Wonderland
by Kat Darklighter
Summary: An AU alternate universe fic revolving around drug addict Jeff Hardy and his friends and lovers. This story contains slash, Hardycest, violence, language, drug use, attempted rape and abusive relationships. Proceed at will!
1. Chapter 1 Jeff

I see the picture on my nightstand constantly. It's been there every morning and every night and every moment in between for as long as I can remember.

I imagine that it meant something to me once, this picture. After all, I did put forth the time and effort of framing it and setting it up in my bedroom. And although it's been there for years, eventually I stopped noticing it. I suppose that's how it is with everything, really. If it's part of your every day life for long enough, you'll soon stop thinking about it and begin taking it for granted. Usually you don't notice it again until it's gone. For me, I don't notice it again until I'm nodding, cruising the waves of the smack that I injected a short while ago.

I don't remember loving the picture, but it seems to me that I did. Right now, I hate it. It taunts me. It shows me something I once had that is now gone. Something I'll never have again. A thought briefly occurs to me that I should throw it away and forget all about it. Maybe later. Right now, my arms and legs are seemingly made of lead, and I'm not sure at all that I can move.

It was taken in North Carolina, I think. Maybe eight years ago, but I wouldn't swear to that. I never was real good with time, even when I'm straight. I don't know what steps we were sitting on, what building we were in front of. I don't even remember who snapped the damn picture. But I remember him sitting behind me with those big arms wrapped around my chest. I remember leaning backward into his heat and the scratch of his stubble against my face as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. I remember his hair loose and tickling against my earlobe and I remember laughing. It was maybe the last time I ever felt completely safe.

I'm a selfish person. All druggies are, right? Anyone will tell you that. But I look at that picture and see the genuine smile on his face and the gleam in those dark eyes and it sends more of a thrill through me than any shot of horse ever could. I love him; for all the right reasons, the wrong reasons.. it doesn't matter. I love him and he doesn't care. But he loves me too; I can feel it. Even though he tries to deny it, he loves me too.

Maybe we'll be together again, there's no way of ever knowing. But we'll still never have what the picture represents. We've been through too much and seen too much. Maybe we'll love each other again, but the innocence is long since dead and bloated.

* * *

I don't know who I am. How many people have lain in front of a thirty-dollar-an-hour shrink and said those very words? Billions, I'm sure. Difference is, I really mean it. 

I don't know who I am or where I am or how I got there, but someone is screaming.

Someone is screaming and I really wish they'd shut the fuck up because my head feels like it'll explode any second. I don't know who's screaming, because I can't see. Everything is dark and all of a sudden I feel like I'm falling. I reach out to grab whatever I can, and it feels like I've grabbed on to something alive. Someone alive.

The Living Thing smacks me across the face with an open hand and I wake up a little. It's then that I realize I'm the one that's screaming. As soon as I stop, the pounding in my head ceases just a bit and I can think clearly enough to form one sentence.

"Where am I?!"

"Jeff. Open your eyes."

I do so. Oh. That's better.

I find myself in my own apartment, my own bedroom, and my own bed. Both my hands are full of fabric, and I slowly look up, finding that The Living Thing I'd grabbed is Chris. Chris Jericho, my so-called boyfriend, if you want to get into technical terms. He's looking at me through a curtain of mussed blonde hair and kohl-lined eyes; looking at me as if I've grown a second head.

Chris looks and acts like every 80's hair band singer known to man. His dream is to front a rock band and become rich and famous. He's already got a harem of slutty groupies and a taste for coke, so I guess that must mean he's on his way.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, man. I thought you were dead! You were hardly breathin'. What'd you do last night?"

I open my mouth to answer him, but I suddenly realize I have no idea. Instead, I absently rub at the track marks on my left forearm, and that seems to be answer enough.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and shakes the hair out of his eyes. "Man, you oughta lay off that shit. Quit it now before it's too late. You keep it up, and you'll never get off it."

I find myself nodding absently, trying to ignore his hypocrisy, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I know he's right. Heroin is not my drug of choice, and I like to tell myself that I'm not hooked. Maybe that's true, but I've been using it a little more lately, just to calm myself down. Just to get a better perspective on things for a while.

Chris is still talking, presumably to me, though I no longer hear what he's saying. I'm trying to remember exactly what I did last night, and the effort of doing so drags the memory of the picture to the surface of my mind. I look over at it, seeing it again for what feels like the first time. I guess I look at it a little longer than what would be deemed normal, because finally Chris is silent. When he speaks again, his voice is lower and I know he's watching me study the sliver of past that has been caught and bottled up in glass on my nightstand.

"Maybe you should call him, Jeff."

"Huh?"

"Matt. Call him."

"What for? I see him every goddamned day."

"Yeah. You see him, but you don't talk to him."

"He doesn't want to talk to me, Chris."

"Yes, he does."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because I know him."

"You love him?"

He pauses, glancing down. "I don't love anyone."

"When was the last time?"

I think that maybe I'm asking for trouble, posing questions like that. Maybe it'll make me angry, start a fight between Chris and I. Wouldn't be the first time. But suddenly, I have to know. For my own selfish reasons, of course.

"The last time what?"

"The last time you fucked my brother."

I'm still looking at the picture; I'm not watching Chris. But I know him like the back of my hand, and in my mind's eye I see him look down and close his eyes, trying to consider the answer he's going to give me. He breathes deep; in and out, and then finally answers.

"You really want to know?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

"This morning."

I'm not altogether there to begin with, and the answer startles me. I have no clue in the world what time it is, but daylight is streaming in through the windows, and so my lazy brain decides that "this morning" couldn't have been that long ago. Slowly, I turn back to face him and he meets my eyes without the least bit of shame lingering in them. He knows I'm in love with my brother. He fucks us both regularly, and doesn't care who knows about it. Chris does as he pleases without any guilt. I honestly don't know why it doesn't make me mad, but it doesn't. It makes me respect him a little more, in some odd way.

Maybe it's my imagination, or maybe the traces of Matt's cologne really do linger on Chris' skin. Either way, I can almost taste Matt as I lick my way up the side of Chris' neck. He shudders against my tongue and reaches up to grab a fistful of hair, crushing our lips together.

Chris tastes fucking amazing on his own, but when I'm caught up in the fact that various parts of my brother's anatomy had been in that mouth just hours (minutes?) before, it's almost overwhelming. I'm moaning and thrusting my tongue repeatedly against Chris', pushing him backward onto the bed and following him down. I'm already naked and his clothes come off without any hassle, until we're pressed naked and hard against one another.

From the neck down, Chris and Matt almost feel alike. Well-muscled arms and chest, a little bit of extra baby fat around the middle. Rounded hipbones and thick, corded thighs. My hand follows every inch of skin down Chris' body, exploring and weighing the similarities and differences. He finally thrusts his hips up toward me, making me realize I'd been neglecting the most important part.

When my fingers wrap around his throbbing cock is when the similarities end. Chris is long and slender, curving ever so slightly to the right, while my Matt is thick and perfectly straight. It doesn't matter now, though. Even though this isn't Matt lying next to me, it's the closest thing I've got. And it's not half bad at all.

Stroking my hand steadily along Chris' hard on, I pull from his lips and look down at him. He really is beautiful; skin flushed with pleasure, eyes rolling behind the lids. He's slowly rocking upward toward my hand and clutching the sheets and I wonder how he can possibly be so horny if he just had sex with someone else. I dare to think that maybe it's just me that has this effect on him, and then laugh off the possibility. Like Chris just said, he doesn't love anyone. That would just make things more complicated, anyway.

"Chris?"

"Mmmhmm?"

"Who fucked who?"

He knows what I mean right away and a ghost of a smile crosses his face. For some reason, he seems to actually enjoy being the middle man between Matt and I.

"I fucked him."

"How?"

We've played this game before and he knows what I want to hear. Talking about it turns him on, too, and I can feel him throb in my hand a few times as he recalls his earlier activities.

"Me on top, first. I threw his legs over my shoulders and pounded him into the mattress like that for a while. Then before he came, I flipped him over onto his hands and knees and fucked him from behind. He likes it like that the most."

"Yeah. I know."

"I don't think he wanted to see my face, Jeff. I think he wanted to pretend I was you."

I'm not sure if he's only saying that to make me feel good, but the sheer thought of it sends all the air out from my chest in a giant rush. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it throbbing in my ears. The flush of excitement that flows through me causes my hand to jerk a little faster and Chris' breath hitches, too.

"God, Jeff, that's it. You know he loves you and he wants you back. Just.. mm.. just think about the last time you had him. The last time he was inside you."

Truth be told, I can't remember the last time I'd slept with Matt. I have millions of stray excerpts floating around in my head but I can't glue them together to make a coherent scene. Not that it matters. All I need is one memory of Matt with his head tossed back and his mouth open to bring me to instant aching hardness.

I'm breathing like I'm the one getting jerked off, and just as I start to recognize the dull ache beginning in my arm, Chris arches up off the bed and comes white hot all over my clinched fist. He doesn't make any noise aside from his labored breathing, but his body trembles and he bites down into his lower lip and its all almost perfect. Almost, because it's not Matt.

* * *

Just because Matt and I aren't fucking anymore doesn't mean we don't see each other at all. Although it would probably be easier that way, it would be next to impossible. We have the same friends and the same hangouts and we usually end up thrown into the mix together sooner or later. 

The Corner Pocket is where said "mixing" generally happens. If you're looking for someone that we chum around with, The Pocket is where you start. It's really owned by this guy Shawn that we're on pretty good terms with, but on Friday and Saturday nights, it belongs to us. We sort of have a deal going with Shawn. We keep his bar in tact and don't take anything we haven't paid for, and he looks the other way while we do our lines in the bathroom stalls. Not a bad setup, really.

Shawn's head bartender is this smug asshole called Adam, and even though none of us really like him, he's got one hell of a hookup. Anything you want, you can get through this guy, so we all put up with him and try not to piss him off too much.

All of us, that is, except Matt.

Matt is not the friendliest of people to begin with, and when you infringe on something that he considers his property, that grudge is not something that will easily go away.

Did I mention that Matt, my brother whom I'm in love with, who is fucking my boyfriend, also has a girlfriend? Well, he does. A girlfriend who is fucking Adam the bartender, and that really gets under Matt's skin.

I've never really understood how Matt can get so upset about Amy's infidelity when he's nowhere close to being faithful himself. Sometimes I think he just looks for things to be angry about. If he's angry all the time, the world is somewhat easier for him to deal with.  
It's Friday night and the place is packed with bodies from wall to wall. I know most of them: regulars that show up every weekend to drink and get high. Some are strangers who I figure have just wandered their way in, attracted to the strange energy that's got to be seeping out of this place and infecting the streets outside.

I'm alone in the corner booth, very pleasantly numb. The world surrounding me is nothing but a haze of warmth and color and I've got to remind myself later to ask Chris just what the hell he gave me and where I can get more.

I'd ask him now, you see, but he's busy with his groupies. He's been dropping quarters in the jukebox all night long and singing along to all the bad hair metal, and they've been falling over at his feet like he's the greatest thing in the world. I know two of them: Trish and Stephanie, his loyal ones. They follow him around constantly like lost puppies. The other three I've never seen before, and they're not being shy about what they want. A catfight could ensue at any minute, and then Chris will have completed his objective for the night.

I couldn't really care less what Chris is doing now, though. No, my attentions are focused on my flesh and blood.

Matt's sitting at a booth nearer the bar, his eyes fixed on the bartender and that slut he calls a girlfriend. I don't like Amy, for obvious reasons, and I get a sort of grim satisfaction over watching her fall all over herself trying to be my friend. I don't know why she bothers. I guess it's her way of trying to get closer to Matt. As far as I know, she has no idea what used to go on between Matt and I. Maybe she's using me as the back-up brother in case things with him finally go sour. Fat chance.

Nobody else seems to notice that something is about to happen, but I know that dark look in Matt's eyes and I know that things are going to hit the fan at any second.

Amy's leaning over the bar, talking into Adam's ear and flashing as much cleavage as humanly possible without taking off her shirt completely. It isn't until they both steal a glance over to Matt and start laughing that he's on his feet and shoving his way to the bar.

Amy, who must be used to his violent outbursts by now, rolls her eyes but is sure to get out of the way as quick as she can. Adam looks like he's about to piss his pants, and for good reason. When my brother tells you he's going to beat the ever-loving shit out of you, he means it.

I'm not even sure when I got up, but I find myself pushing through the crowd to get to the bar. I know that if Matt gets his hands around Adam's neck, everything is going to go up in flames. It'll be a riot in here. If there's one thing I've learned from hanging around a lot of people, it's that they don't need a reason to start fighting. Just an example.

When Matt reaches the bar, I'm splitting through the crowd from the left, almost there. The first thing he does is grab Amy before she can get too far away, and give her a nice solid backhand across the jaw. Even through the talking and music, I can hear it connect. She screams and holds the side of her face in both hands, ducking into the crowd.

With Amy forgotten, Matt puts his hands on the bartop and starts to vault over. Adam is trying to back away, but he's got nowhere to go. I wonder what he expected to happen when he sleeps with another man's girlfriend and then flaunts it right in front of said man.

I grab Matt by the back of his belt right before he ascends the counter. He's not expecting it and loses his balance, falling backward. I'm not exactly on my game, but I'm prepared enough to steel myself against his weight and catch him before he lands on the ground. He's seething when he breaks from my grasp and whirls around to face me, furious that someone would dare try to prevent him from taking out his aggression. Right now, all he has on his mind is a fight. He swings before he looks _(typical Matt)_, and sends me reeling, gasping at the unexpected flash of pain that settles in my mouth.

We've gathered a few onlookers by now, some of whom know the story between Matt and I and are waiting with baited breath for the next chapter of our little drama. But the only pair of eyes I care about are Matt's, and they're fixed on me as I'm sprawled on the floor. He lowers his fist and frowns, and I can tell he's trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

I have no idea what to do in a situation like this, and so I don't do anything. I just get to my feet and brush off a little, and then turn to head back to where I'd been sitting. I'd accomplished what I'd set out to: keep Matt from starting a bar room brawl. Surely he's forgotten all about Adam and Amy, for the moment, at least.

I'm honestly not expecting the hand –_his_ hand- to come down on my shoulder, but I freeze with a mixture of fright and excitement when it does. I turn around and meet those dark eyes, and he doesn't have to say anything. He turns and leads, and I follow him out the door without a second thought.


	2. Chapter 2 Jeff

The door to the bar slams shut behind us, leaving behind the blaring music (_complete with background vocals by Chris Jericho_), and shouting voices. By comparison, it's quiet out here, even with the roar of the traffic going by. It's much cooler, too, and I momentarily lament leaving my jacket behind. But, I'm out here on the sidewalk with my brother, the love of my life, and there's no way in hell I'm walking away.

I've been waiting months for this moment. To have him alone and all to myself to say the things I need to say is like a dream come true. But for some reason, all those things that had seemed so damned important to me not five minutes ago have abandoned me completely. I have no words.

Matt looks equally uncomfortable. He's busying himself by lighting a cigarette and aimlessly looking around the street. I know him, and I know he's not going to make the first move. I guess it's up to me.

"Wanna go for a walk?"

Yeah, I know. Nothing accomplished, but at least I got my voice to work and actually formed a coherent sentence. He looks over at me, dark eyes sparkling under the streetlight, and nods once, silently. Then he begins walking, a slow lazy gait, not waiting or glancing over his shoulder to make sure I'm following. He knows I will.

I take a couple of jogging steps to get in stride with him, and we walk for a while, in silence. This is not turning out how I'd hoped. I can't think of anything to say, or any reasonable excuse to touch him, which is all I want to do. Finally, I resort to reaching down and plucking his lit cigarette from his fingers. That way, I don't have to speak or touch, and I still get his attention.

We both stop. Chocolate eyes follow his stolen cigarette all the way up to my lips, where I take a nice, healthy drag. The smoke burns delightfully through my lungs and I decide that I should smoke more often.

"You're bleedin'."

Two words, but it's more than he's spoken to me in at least a month. The mere sound of his voice, that husky Southern drawl, sends shivers down my spine.

"Yeah. You hit me."

He reaches out to me, and I could swear that my heart stops. His cigarette had been between my fingers, but I drop it carelessly to the cement as his hands come up and frame my face. He moves me, positioning me directly under a streetlight, and puts his face so close to mine that I could kiss him. He squints, examining me in the poor light, and then pulls back. I wonder if his hands really lingered on my skin, or if it was just my wishful thinking.

"You'll be alright. Maybe have a shiner tomorrow mornin'."

"That's okay. I don't mind."

"Yeah, I'm sure you don't. You don't really feel much these days, do ya?"

I wince at his words, knowing what he was implying, and knowing that it was one hundred percent true. My reply is automatic and defensive. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Chris tells me you've become real acquainted with the needle."

That fucking bastard. I never thought Chris was on my side in all of this, but I didn't know he would flat out betray me.

"It's none of Chris' business. What does he know, anyway?"

"Oh, Jesus, Jeff. I didn't need Chris to tell me."

He grabs my wrist and holds it tight as I try to yank from his grasp, knowing where this is headed. He just holds me tighter and I can feel the delicate bones there begin to grind together. If I keep struggling, I have no doubts that he'll break my wrist. I finally relent, and he gestures to the tracks on the inside of my elbow.

"Is this it? This is how fucking low you've gotten?" He spits the words in my face, and I try not to see the hate behind them. I wouldn't be able to stand the thought of Matt hating me. I'd have nothing left to live for.

I throw up my defenses; make myself angry instead of hurt. I consider telling him that my drug habits are his fault. That he drove me to them, but even I know that isn't true. It's no one's fault but my own.

"Oh, you're one to talk! You think you're any better than me? Fine, maybe you're not a junkie, but being a whore ain't much better."

He lets go of my wrist like I've burned him. He's staring hard at me, and I can see the thoughts behind his eyes, trying to figure out how to respond to that. I figure he's either trying to decide whether to walk away, or just kill me. I think that he may as well just put me out of my misery, so I decide to push him a little farther.

"What? You don't think I see what's goin' on with you? You're fucking your little disease-ridden slut, and half the fucking block, too. My boyfriend included. You just can't stand the thought of me bein' happy, can you?! You've gotta take it all away!"

"What have I ever taken away from you?" His voice is quiet, guarded, but genuinely curious. God, doesn't he know?

"YOU! You took yourself away! You found somethin' better and left me to the fuckin' dogs!"

With that, he grabs me again, but only to pull me out from under the light and into the dark protection of a nearby alley. In our territory, everyone averts their eyes and lets us do as we please. Outside on the streets, we're liable to get our skulls bashed in by some uptight righteous homophobes.

He tosses me carelessly into the brick wall of a building and stares me down intensely. I almost can't see him, but I can feel the weight of his gaze. "Listen to me, Jeff. I didn't find anythin' better. You think I prefer that slut in there to you? I don't. But you're my fucking brother! It was a mistake, a fuckin' mistake, and you knew it had to end!"

My chest aches, and I wonder briefly if my heart is actually breaking. My bottom lip begins to quiver, and I quickly bite down on it. I've already made myself look foolish enough.

He sighs long and deep, and with that exhale of air, it's like all his walls have crumbled. The tension melts from his back and shoulders, making him slump down a little. His eyes soften and my heart lurches. Years of stress are what made him into the man he is today. He steels himself against the hateful world, and makes himself hate it right back. But now, with all his emotions let loose and naked on his face, he just looks tired.

"Please don't cry, Jeff."

I really wasn't going to, until he actually said the words. Then, it became uncontrollable. I bend down, curling into myself as much as I can while still standing, and cover my hands with my face as I sob. I've dealt with my feelings for Matt in a lot of ways. I've slept around, injected illegal substances, beat innocent people half to death. But I've never cried over him. And now that it's started, I feel like I'll never get it to stop.

I hear him sigh again before he comes to me, forcing me upright again. He wraps those strong, protective arms around me, and it just tears me open further. I bury my face against his shoulder and continue to bawl, crying so hard that it's getting difficult to breathe.

His hand begins running soothingly through my hair, and it calms me a little. Brings me back to reality enough that I realize I'd been mumbling nearly inaudible things through the tears.

"God, Matty, please. Please. I love you. I love you, I can't do this. I can't live without you. Please. Please love me. Please."

When I realize how weak I'm sounding, how desperate, I quickly push him away and wipe at the overflow of tears. He watches me almost sadly, and the thought angers me. What right does he have to be sad?

"Just leave me alone, alright?" I know it's a little late to try and save any dignity, but I'm gonna give it a shot anyway. "I'm sorry I fucked up your fight tonight. I won't bother you again. Just leave me alone."

"Jeff.."

"No! Just go."

Instantly, those shields come back up. He squares his chest and glares at me, and turns to walk away. I can suddenly breathe again, but at the same time, an agonizing ache is filling me. Somehow, I know that I'll never see him again. The thought reduces me to whimpers, and I try to hold back until he's out of earshot, refusing to let myself be degraded any further.

I freeze as he stops and turns back to face me, and he's got that look on his face again. That look that says he's trying to decide what to do. I know that look well. I seem to be the main cause of it, in fact. His eyes dart back and forth aimlessly and he sucks at his lower lip in thought.

I'm not sure if he actually says the words out loud, or if I can just read them on his lips.

"Fuck it."

With that, he's lunging toward me, and I actually prepare to defend myself, thinking that he's going to attack me. He attacks me, all right, but it's with his mouth and his hands and it all happens so fast that I can't even react to it.

His hands are under my shirt and his tongue is invading my mouth, and I don't know what to do about it. Finally, he bites my lip, presumably just to get a reaction out of me, and it works like a charm. Like earlier, when I was crying and so flooded with emotion that I couldn't hold back, neither can I hold back now. I wrap my arms around him and crush him to me as tightly as I can, going at his mouth like a starving thing. He moans and the sound turns to a feeling, vibrating into me, and it gets me instantly hard and throbbing.

Matt is the older of the two of us, and thus was usually in charge of everything. Including our sex life. But this time, I'm so desperate and excited that this is happening, I have no control over my actions. I spin us both around and shove his back against the wall instead. He looks down at me with an open mouth as I drop to my knees and start unfastening his pants. A quick blowjob in a dirty alley is not how I pictured this reunion, but as long as he's ready and willing, I'm going to take advantage of it. Who knows when he'll change his mind again.

I make quick work of his jeans and underwear, pushing them down to his knees. His cock is hard and glistening before me, and I fight the urge to weep at his sheer beauty. I can wax poetic about this later. Right now, I just want to swallow everything he has to offer.

"Jeff," he says again, and his voice is like a warning. He's starting to sound unsure, and I can't have that. I grab his hips and arch him toward me, taking him as deep as I can in one motion. He practically shrieks, his hands scrabbling at the back of my head and I delight in making him lose control. He's thrashing against me, my hands having to become forceful to keep him in place. I think briefly of the solid brick he's pressed against and hope that he doesn't hit his head.

I've given my fair share of blowjobs in my time, and I know what I'm doing. Also, experience has taught me exactly what Matt likes, and although I can't perform to full effect with all his moving about, I can do a pretty decent job. He sounds like he's sobbing above me, and when he starts tugging on my hair, I figure that he must be close to coming.

"Jeff! Oh, god, Jeff. Stop. Stop, please."

I make a negative sound and continue sucking, harder, to let him know I want him to come in my mouth. He growls and yanks on my hair, causing a fair amount of pain and effectively pulling my head back. I blink up at him, whispering.

"Matty, it's okay. I want you to.."

"Get up, Jeff."

I scramble to my feet, ready to do anything he tells me. I figure he'll want us to go somewhere else. Somewhere clean and private. My place, maybe. Amy is probably at his.

He pulls his clothes back up and zips his jeans, pushing off from the wall and moving past me without touching. I move to follow, happily, and he raises a hand, steeling my forward progress.

"Stay," he commands, like I'm his disobedient pet.

"What? Matt, what do you mean? Don't you wanna go somewhere?"

"Yeah. I'm goin' home. I don't care where you go. I can't do this, Jeff. I couldn't do it before, and I can't do it now."

Just a moment ago, everything had been real and solid. But he's just kicked me right off my axis, and I can feel myself whirling into oblivion. My knees give, and I end up sitting down hard on the pavement. I seriously think for a moment that I'll pass out.

He stops and looks back at me, and he hasn't gotten his emotions back into check. I can see the tears shining in his eyes as he whispers, "I'm sorry," and then walks away.

I'm not sure how long I sit in the cold, dark alley, thinking that maybe he'll come back for me. When my teeth start chattering, I finally pick myself up and head back to the Pocket. I know he won't be there.

Things have slowed down a little, and there's room to sit at the bar. Adam comes to me warily, not saying anything, but questioning me with his eyes. He knows I don't like him, but he also knows that I saved his skin tonight. I'm sure he's wondering why.

I look up at him, knowing I must look like the mess that I feel.

"You holdin' anything?"

He smiles and tells me to meet him in the bathroom in ten minutes.


	3. Chapter 3 Jeff

When I finally open my eyes and look around, I have absolutely no idea where I am at first or how I got there. The words "story of my life" automatically pop into my head and I can't hold back a bitter chuckle. All I know is that there is a white light that's nearly blinding me, and I'm practically freezing to death. As my senses slowly return, I realize that I'm both sitting on and leaning against cold tile, and as a result, I'm shivering all over.

Due to the fact that my nerve endings don't seem to currently be working and I can't move, I rest my head against the wall and just concentrate on breathing. I catch a glimpse of writing on a tile next to my head that looks like it had been put there with a red sharpie. 'Call Randy for a good time.' Hmm. That sounds familiar.

Oh.

A wave of realization washes over me and I suddenly know that I'm on the floor in the men's room of the Corner Pocket. Once I figure that out, the rest of the night comes rushing back upon me. The bar, keeping Matt from killing someone, getting left alone and very turned on in the middle of the alley, and then walking back here. But how I ended up unconscious on the floor in the bathroom is still a mystery to me. I have no idea what time it is, or what day it is as a matter of fact. For all I know, they closed the bar without checking the bathrooms first, and I'm locked in and just as alone as I've always been.

I'm trying to struggle to my feet and not having much luck when the rusty door hinges squeak, and Chris comes sauntering in. He lets the door close behind him and then pauses for a minute, just staring at me in what I'm guessing is disbelief. I'm half sitting and half standing, leaning all my weight up against the wall. I can just imagine what I look like right about now.

He finally snaps out of it and comes over to me, wrapping an arm around my waist and transferring my weight from the wall and onto him. When I'm standing (almost) straight up again, I can see myself in the cracked, dirty mirror above the sink. My hair is tangled and hanging down around my face in blood red strands, contrasting with my pale skin and the black eyeliner smeared halfway down my cheeks like bruises. My lip is split from Matty hitting me, and a thin trickle of blood has dried on my chin. I look dead, and feel the same way.

"Jeff? What the hell happened?"

More and more pieces of memory are floating back to me, and suddenly I remember the conversation I had with Matt earlier on the street. He told me that it was Chris who told him I'd been using harder than ever. Anger flares up in me, but dies away just as quickly. What happened tonight would've happened with or without Chris' interference. And now, when he's the only solid thing keeping me on my feet, is not the time to start screaming at him.

My eyes find his in the mirror when I realize he asked me a question. I fumble for an answer, not entirely sure what to say. Finally, I settle for the only thing that comes to mind. "Matt."

Chris turns me around and leans my ass against the sink to keep me upright, making me face him. Crystal blue eyes travel over me, brows creasing whenever he finds another detail that disturbs him. He reaches out and gingerly takes my left arm, studying the fresh needle mark that's crusted with blood. After a moment, he shakes his head and lets my arm go, raising his hands to cup both sides of my face. His thumbs rub under my eyes, wiping away the makeup smeared with sweat and tear tracks.

"You're pathetic," he says, but there's no conviction in his voice. He's looking at me almost sadly and I avert my eyes, not wanting to look at him. Knowing that right now, he's seeing me at my worst.

"I love him, Chris."

"I know ya do, sweetheart. You love him so much you'd die for him, and that's exactly what you're doing."

I nod, still not looking up at him but knowing he's probably right. Somewhere deep down maybe I am doing this because I want to die if I can't be with Matt, and I have to do it slowly because I don't have the balls to do it all at once. Chris watches me for a minute before taking me into his arms again and leading me from the bathroom. My knees are still wobbly and I'm grateful for his support, so I decide not to be stubborn and just lean all my weight on him, letting him almost carry me along.

There aren't too many people left in the main room. As I raise my head to look around, I see Adam still standing behind the bar with his arms crossed over his chest and a smug smirk on his face. He nods and winks suggestively at me as I go by, and my stomach lurches dangerously. Clouded scenes of being in the bathroom with him float through my brain. What happened, exactly? I'm not sure I want to know.

Trish and Stephanie, Chris' groupies, are curled up together in a booth and both pairs of eyes follow us as we head to the door, but neither of them move to try to intercept. Either they're too tired and have decided to give up the chase for tonight, or they know not to bother Chris when he has other things on his agenda. I breathe a premature sigh of relief when it appears we'll get out the door without incident. All I really want to do is go home and pass out in my own bed.

Suddenly, someone appears in front of us, making Chris stop. With my head hanging down, the first thing I catch is high heeled black boots that hug slender calves. I move my eyes up slowly, taking in the faded blue jeans with the conveniently-placed rips that show teases of smooth skin, the white halter top worn a few sizes too small to show off an impressive chest, ratted honey-colored hair and a somewhat attractive face that's been painted with too much makeup. I vaguely recognize her as one of the other girls that had been competing so hard for Chris' attention earlier in the night, and can't help but roll my eyes. This is so not what I need right now.

She speaks in a soft seductive tone, the strong scent of alcohol present on her breath. "Where ya goin', honey? Thought we had a date."

Chris doesn't look amused, and I'm not sure how long his patience is going to hold out. Good. "Look, Nikki, I gotta go. My friend's sick and I have to take him home. We'll talk later, alright?"

She pouts her lower lip out, a stung expression gracing her face. "It's Mickie."

"Whatever," Chris whispers under his breath, moving to step around the female. She won't be blown off so easily, though, and sidesteps her way into our path once more.

"Hey! You can't say all the things you said earlier and then just leave! Nobody treats me like that!"

Chris tightens his jaw and tries once more to step around her, talking all the while. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little too busy to worry about skanks like you. Now, if you'll kindly get the fuck out of my way..."

Being called a skank apparently doesn't upset her in the slightest; I figure she's been called much worse, and probably takes it all as a compliment. This time as Chris tries to get past, she leans up against him, ignoring me completely. She wraps her arms around him, making what we have into a sort of three way hug. Having her this close, I can better smell the liquor coming off of her in waves. She leans into Chris' ear and whispers something to him. I can't pick up everything, but what I do hear is enough to make any normal woman blush.

Chris appears to be speechless which makes me a little nervous. Chris Jericho is never speechless, and I think for a moment that maybe he'll just drop me in a heap on the floor and take this little vixen up on her invitation. I realize I'm wrong, however, when he forcefully pushes her away. She stumbles, barely able to regain her balance on her stilettos. When she does, anger floods her face and she takes on the demeanor of a cat about to pounce. I'm about to stumble my way over to the bar so that Chris' hands will be free to fight her off, when Chris grabs me tighter and swivels his body to face me completely. He leans down and claims my lips in a searing kiss which I return purely on reflex, wrapping my arms around his neck.

I wait to get tackled but it never comes, and so I just relax into Chris and enjoy the impromptu makeout session. It's not, of course, the first time I've had Chris' tongue down my throat, but this time he puts forth a little extra effort for our audience. Finally, he pulls away and I pant for breath, looking curiously toward the woman.

She looks like she could faint at any moment, her mouth hanging unflatteringly ajar, chest heaving with deep, surprised breaths. Her wide eyes dart back and forth between Chris and I, until finally she gets herself under control. She snaps her mouth shut with an audible click and smoothes her hands down her shirt.

"Fags," she hisses, and turns on her heel to stalk toward the ladies' room.

Stephanie and Trish begin shrieking laughter like a couple of harpies, gleefully catcalling after Mickie. I'm not sure if Chris is sleeping with either one of them, but they at least know that he and I are an item and are delighted to see the "competition" shot down in such a way. Chris, apparently unphased by the encounter, proceeds to drag me out onto the sidewalk.

"Can you walk?" he asks, taking a cursory glance at the streets around us. We're alone.

"Yeah," I reply, and push away from him to prove it. My knees hold, but I'm still a little unsteady and he keeps his arm around my waist just in case. I follow his lead down the sidewalk, and we've gone at least four blocks before something semi-important dawns on me.

"Chris? We're goin' the wrong direction."

"No, we're not. C'mon, don't stop now. We're almost there."

I look at him, baffled, but he ignores me and continues along. Trusting that he knows where he's going, I keep following. It isn't until we come to a stop outside a dilapidated apartment building do I start losing what was left of my calm.

"Chris. What the fuck do ya think you're doin'? If you think I'm goin' in there, you're outside your fuckin' mind."

I turn to try and walk away from him, but he easily snatches me up again. I start to struggle, but he's bigger than I am and easily lifts me off my feet, carrying me kicking and fighting into the building. My vision blurs red as I start to go into a panic, fighting harder and starting to yell. Chris just tightens his grip on me and drags me along until we get to the staircase.

We stop. He's a little winded from restraining me, his voice breathless in my ear. "We're goin' upstairs, Jeff. We can do it the easy way or the hard way. It's up to you. If I put you down, will you walk?"

I nod, tired as well, although I have absolutely no intentions of actually doing what I say. He puts me down, hesitantly, and I stand still for a moment before trying to make a break for it. I dash toward the exit, but Chris reaches out with catlike reflexes, grabbing a handful of my hair. I yelp with pain and surprise and stop running, hoping he'll relent. No such luck. I guess this would be "the hard way."

Chris leads me back to the stairs and then begins to drag me up by my hair. I try to grab onto the banister to stop our forward progress, but the grip he has on me hurts like a bitch and eventually I stop reaching for things to cling to. My eyes are hazy with tears of pain, rage, and frustration. My hand shoots out and grabs his ankle, hoping to make him fall and perhaps aid my chances of escape. But all it does is make him angry and switch from holding my hair to locking his entire arm around my neck in a bitch of a headlock. This is hardly an improvement.

Now, not only can I not run, I can't breathe. My hands are scrabbling at his forearm, trying to get him to let go. He continues his stride, my heels colliding with each step as he literally drags me along. Even after we've ascended the staircase, he keeps his hold on me as we move down the hall and finally come to a stop in front of a door I thought I'd never see again.

Apparently, I've pissed Chris off quite a bit with my struggling. He doesn't bother to knock or even try the doorknob to see if it's locked. No, he just puts his big boot right through the door, breaking the lock and forcing it to swing open on its hinges. He tosses me carelessly into the apartment and I land on the floor, gasping for lost breath. Even now, I'm still trying to get away as I crawl toward the busted door until Chris blocks my path.

He slams the door shut behind him, looking down at me. His forehead is glistening with sweat from the struggle, strands of hair sticking to his face. I look at up at him with the best scorned look I can muster.

"Don't look at me like that, Jeff. This is for your own good. Both of ya. I'm the one that always has to pick you up after your little benders, even though it's his doing in the first place. But he never gets to see! He's never around when you're so spun you don't even know where the hell you are. He doesn't hold you up in the shower and wash the blood and puke off of you. He isn't there to pull the belt off your arm and get the needles out of your bed so you don't roll over on top of them after you pass out. He's the reason you do it, but he never gets to see! Well, I say fuck that! He can take care of you this one fuckin' time!"

I'm curled up in a ball on the floor by the time Chris finishes his monologue. I don't want to look up. I don't want to see who else is in the apartment with us and what his reaction to all this is going to be.

"You. Take care of your little brother for once in your fuckin' life."

Everything goes quiet Chris' demand. All I can hear is my own breathing. I finally dare to look up, having to satisfy my curiosity.

I'm curled up on the floor in between Chris and Matt. They're staring each other down and I think I might get trampled if they lunge for each other. Chris is breathing hard and wiping the sweat from his brow, blue eyes gone dark with anger. Matt's standing in the middle of the small living room, hands clinched into fists at his sides. He doesn't look at me. I know he wants to pretend I'm not there. His gaze moves from Chris to the busted door and back again. He opens his mouth and I know he's going to protest; start running some drag about the door. Anything to escape the matter at hand: me.

Chris shakes his head and steps around me, moving to Matt. He moves slowly and with his hands at his sides, being as non threatening as possible. I know he doesn't want to fight Matt. No one in their right mind would. He stops at Matt's side and looks down at me, and almost inadvertently, my brother follows his gaze. Both pairs of eyes are on me and I feel my face go red in embarrassment and shame under the careful scrutiny.

"Quit fighting it, Matt. He needs you. Just tonight. Let him stay here. If you don't change your mind about everything, take him back home tomorrow. I'll be there." With a tentative hand, Chris reaches up and turns Matt's face toward him. They lock eyes for a long moment before Chris leans in carefully, probably still afraid to get punched. He delivers a kiss that to me looks soft and tender, and I wonder just how much is involved in their relationship besides sex. My body tenses in automatic reaction to seeing someone else touching my brother like that, but I reason that it's only Chris, and I trust him more than maybe anyone else. Even now.

Matt returns the kiss briefly before breaking it and looking down to the floor. I watch his tongue dart out, running once over his full lower lip, tasting the remnants of the kiss. Chris smiles half heartedly and turns, walking out the door and closing it the best he can, although it hangs a little jarred on its hinges.

Feeling overwhelmingly vulnerable, I pull myself to my feet and try to muster as much dignity as I possibly can. I know I look like death warmed over, and I don't want Matt to see me like this. Chris is right; Matt never sees me after I've been using, and there's a reason for that. I can't meet his eyes, both because I'm ashamed of my situation and because I can't chase away the torrid memory of having his cock in my mouth just hours before.

I try to speak, but nothing comes out at first. I have to clear my throat several times, and even then my voice is quiet and hoarse. "I'm sorry."

I'm not entirely sure what I'm apologizing for, but it seems like the right thing to say. When he doesn't reply, I turn to leave. I'm not sure where I'm going to go, what with Chris in my apartment, but anything would be better than where I am now.

"Jeff?"

I almost don't stop at first, convinced that my mind had fabricated his voice. Wouldn't be the first time, after all. I steal a glance over my shoulder and our eyes meet, and again his guard is let down and his sadness and insecurity is in his gaze.

"Maybe Chris is right. Maybe you should stay. You need a shower. You look like shit."

A small smile breaks out on my face without me realizing it, and I turn back to face him completely. He smiles back, and a small piece of the universe is returned to its correct place.

He takes a few tentative steps in my direction until he's within touching distance. I close my eyes and hold my breath as he reaches for me, his index finger slowly trailing down the dried blood on my face.

"I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean to."

"Yeah," I manage to squeak out, forcing my eyes to open again. "I know."

His finger graduates to his entire palm, moving to cup my cheek and then slide around to the back of my neck. He grips there, and pulls me in toward him. I stumble a little and end up pressed flush against his body, and he wraps his arms around me, holding me there.

I'm not sure how to react at first, but eventually I return the comforting embrace and lean my head against his shoulder. I can hear his breathing and feel his heart beat against my chest and I take solace in these things.

He nuzzles his face into my hair, whispering to me. "You need to get off this shit, Jeff. You're gonna kill yourself."

I try to hold back the bitterness; try not to tell him that this is all his fault to begin with and if he had just kept on loving me, none of it would've happened. Instead, I'm lying before I even realize it; both to him and to myself.

"It's not that bad, Matty. I.. I don't do it that often, really. Just when things get really bad. I've got it under control… I can quit anytime I want."

He nods a little in reply, but I know that he doesn't believe me. "We should get you in the shower."

I raise my head to look up at him, not leaving the confines of his arms. "Yeah. In a minute, okay? I like this."

He smiles and leans in almost automatically, pressing his lips against mine. The kiss is gentle and chaste, but still enough to light every one of my nerve endings on fire. When he pulls back, I immediately lean in to kiss him again and soon we're taking turns, with each touch lingering a little longer than the last one.

The kissing quickly goes from chaste to heated, and I whimper into his mouth at the first touch of his tongue. I'm scared to move; scared to breathe. I know that this dream is fragile and a word spoken too loudly could shatter it. My hands are in his hair and his on my lower back, keeping us pressed together.

To pull from this kiss would be like stabbing myself in the heart, but I have to. I have to be sure, and I have to know he's sure. I can't take another "almost." For the sake of whatever is left of my sanity, I have to ask him.

I break the kiss and he immediately goes for my mouth again, but I move my hands down to his chest and hold him at bay. His eyes find mine then, dark with lust and now holding a hint of uncertainty that is ready to morph into anger at any moment if he thinks I'm doing this to try and get back at him for earlier.

"Matty, I.." Damn. Talking isn't at easy as I thought it would be. "I need to know. I need you.. I need you to promise me that you're not gonna push me away again."

He relaxes a little at that, bending his head to press his lips against my brow. He kisses there and then moves down my temple and across my cheekbone, until I feel his hot breath against my ear. "I promise."

God, I could weep at the power of those two words, but I don't have time. He's lifting me and nearly body slamming me onto the couch, following me down. Our lips find each other again effortlessly and he writhes on top of me to find a comfortable position. I can feel him pressing insistently into my thigh and I arch, rolling my hips into him teasingly, and delighting at the groan that vibrates through my mouth.

His hands are under my shirt, moving along bare skin and driving me insane. I try to wriggle out of my shirt but it's hard to do with his weight on top of me. He lifts up a little, helping me pull away the offending article of clothing, and getting rid of his, too, while he's at it.

He kisses me again before breaking away, that seductive mouth of his moving downward. He pauses briefly at my jaw line, licking purposefully at my blood for a moment before moving on. As he's kissing along my chest, his fingers are unfastening my pants and I think for a moment I'll come undone right then.

He stops and raises his head right before he reaches my belly button, looking up at me. He gives me a predatory grin which gets wider when he feels my body quiver beneath him.

He's taking my zipper down oh-so-slowly as he speaks. "Wanna let me repay you for earlier?"

I can't think of an answer. I don't know how to tell him that yes, it's what I want more than life itself. I don't know how to tell him that he's well on his way to making the every wet dream I've been having for the past year come true.

I settle for nodding.

His fingers hook into my waistband and start to slowly pull it downward.

We both freeze when the apartment door swings open.


	4. Chapter 4 Jeff

-1Amy is standing in the doorway, looking nice and worked over. It's more than what Matt had dealt to her earlier, too; her face is swollen and bruised, hair crusted with bits of blood, her clothes torn and ratty. We're both watching her in utter disbelief, our current activities quickly forgotten, and I decide in that second that she is not human at all. She's a demon sent from Hell, to make sure that I am never, ever happy.

She looks like she's about to fall over when she sees me and Matt entwined half naked on the couch. Her color goes from pale white to nearly green, lips curling back over her teeth in a sneer of disgust. It's an expression I got used to long ago.

"What.. the FUCK.. do YOU WANT?!" Matt screams at her from the couch, startling us and making she and I both flinch.

She averts her eyes from us quickly, looking down at the floor and stammering for a few seconds before she can come up with anything coherent.

"I have a message. For Jeff. Adam.. Adam's looking for you. He, um.. he said to tell you that you're a.. cocktease, and even though he enjoyed his blowjob in the bathroom, that you're gonna have to keep your promise for more next time you want a fix."

After that, no one speaks. I can hear breathing, but I know that it must be Matt and Amy, because I can't get a single ounce of air into my lungs. His blowjob in the bathroom. Oh, god, please let me wake up now.

I turn my head from Amy and back to Matt. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion. Matt outwardly appears calm, but I know him better. His jaw is set and his eyes are narrowed, and his body is stiff with tension. I notice these things because I've seen them a thousand times before. Slowly, he lifts himself off of me, and I'm grateful that his attention is still on Amy.

"Get the fuck out of here, you little slut. You ever come back here again, and I'll fuckin' kill ya." There isn't a lot of emotion in his words; it's just pure fact.

I believe him, and I guess Amy does, too. She turns quickly and hurries out the door, beginning to cry. I feel for her right then. She makes a few mistakes and pretty soon her entire life is snowballing out of control. I can sympathize.

I think, maybe I can still save this. Maybe he won't believe her. Maybe I can convince him…

My thought process is broken by my shirt hitting me in the face. I pull it away and sit up on the couch, looking at Matt. He's glaring murder at me, and I can tell he's mustering every ounce of self control that he possesses.

"Get your fucking clothes on and get out of here." The command is more of an animalistic growl than actual words.

"Matt, please, wait. I can explain all this.."

"I don't want anymore of your bullshit, Jeff. You're a fucking junkie who has to sell his ass on the street to get a fix. You're worthless. I don't want to have.. anything to do with you."

I work quickly to fasten my pants and get my shirt on, because I have to leave before I hear anything else like that. From anyone else, I wouldn't care. Hell, it's mostly true anyway. But from my brother.. it's not something I can handle.

"And with that piece of shit? How can I touch you after you've been with him? It's disgusting. I hope you're happy, Jeff; you've just hit rock fucking bottom."

It's hard to get my clothes on when I'm shaking this hard, but I somehow manage. I'm on my feet and heading as fast as I can to the door, hoping to just get out, but he won't stop talking. I know he's doing it on purpose; he's trying to hurt me because I've just hurt him. It's working like a charm.

"Get out of here. Get back to your little babysitter. Do you fuck him for drugs, too? I'm sure you've got the whole fuckin' block lined up by now, huh? Damn, I'm glad I didn't fuck you. Who knows what goddamned diseases you're out there spreadin' around."

I'm out the door and stumbling down the staircase; it's hard to see the steps through all the tears. By the time I reach the bottom, I can hear Matt up in his apartment. He's screaming and crying and throwing things around, probably knocking holes in the walls. I guess his self control left with me. I know he didn't mean everything he just said to me. It probably hurt him to say it almost as bad as it hurt me to hear it.

When I hit the cold air outside the apartment building, I'm not thinking clearly at all. Maybe I have finally done it; maybe my brother really does hate me. I get my bearings enough to get going in the direction of my apartment, and all I can think right now is that I want to curl up in bed and enveloped in a pair of comforting arms. Chris is always reliable for that.

The sun is approaching fast, tinting the sky a light blue and making it easier to see. I'm crying but not really thinking about it, just reaching up and wiping away the tears whenever they overflow so bad that my vision gets blurry.

I have to go past the Pocket to get home, but I'm not worried about that. It closes at dawn, and I imagine the doors will be locked, with most of the employees long since home asleep, or at least passed out drunk.

With my mind clouded by thoughts of Matt and the best way to make the pain go away, I'm not even remotely prepared to get grabbed from behind. It's the second time in the last hour that I've been put into a headlock. This is getting old. However, this one uses his other hand to cover my mouth and is well on his way to suffocating me completely; Chris hadn't been half this rough.

It may be strange to say, but I'm not scared. This guy can try and mug me if he wants to; I don't have any money. Maybe he'll get pissed off and kill me. I think at this moment that would be an improvement.

I get shoved hard into a brick wall and the first thing I realize, with grim amusement, is that it's the same brick wall I had Matt pressed against earlier. It seems like a lifetime ago.

The person behind me finally takes his arm from around my throat and his hand from my mouth, using his body weight to pin me against the wall. His hands go to work, apparently frisking me for cash, moving all over me in a violating sort of manner.

"I don't have any money, man. You're wastin' your time."

"I know you don't have any money, cutie. That's not what I'm looking for." With that, his hand grabs me through my jeans, making my entire body jerk in surprise and discomfort. Once I get past the fact that his hand is grabbing my cock, my brain is free to realize just who it is behind me.

"Adam. What.. what the fuck are you doin'?"

"You left me high and dry earlier, kid. I guess I coulda gotten what I wanted after you'd passed out on the floor, but what fun would that be? I want you to be awake to tell me how much you're enjoying it."

"I.. I gave you what you asked for."

"Yeah, you're right, that mouth of yours is real nice. Talented. But I guess you'd have to be in your, um, profession, huh? All it did was make me curious, though. Make me wanna know what the rest of you is like." He's unfastening my pants. Oh, god.

"Hey, hey. Listen, I was.. I was just, y'know, on my way home. It's been a long night, but.. maybe we can set something up for later, yeah? I mean, um.. after I've had a chance to clean up and everything."

"Nice try. Don't worry, I don't mind sloppy seconds." He's pulling my jeans down past my hips. Fuck fuck fuck.

"Please, you don't have to do this.. if you can just wait.. just for a few minutes? Let me go home and take a shower.."

He stops replying altogether; now he's just concentrating on his task. He's got my pants down over my ass and is holding me against the wall with one hand while the other fumbles with his own clothing between us. I make one final effort to get out of this; shoving off the wall with all my weight, trying to knock him backward.

I'm so surprised when it actually works, that I almost don't know what to do next. He almost falls backward on his ass, which gives me time to bolt. I scramble out of the alley, losing my footing once but gaining it back quickly. My hands are busy trying to get my pants back up, not as much for the sake of decency but more so I don't trip over them.

The alley ends and I hit the sidewalk at a dead run, my heart speeding up even more when I realize Adam is right on my heels. I pick up the pace as much as I possibly can, sprinting toward my apartment. I don't really want Adam to know where I live, but I have nowhere else to go.

I didn't think he'd follow me this far. He's grabbing at me as I scale the stairs up to my door, and right before I reach safety, he lunges for me. We struggle for dominance for a moment before he finally gets control, straddling my hips and pinning my wrists to the floor.

I'm fucked. I don't have the energy, strength, or will to fight him off. The only thing I can do now is hope that Chris made good on what he told Matt. We're less than five feet from my door and Adam doesn't have a free hand left to cover my mouth.

"Aww. A romantic, huh? You didn't want a quick fuck in an alley.. you wanted to take me home and to your own bed. That's sweet, really, but.."

"CHRIS!"

Gaping in horror of getting caught, Adam pulls his hands back reflexively and slaps me a good one across the face, hissing under his breath, "shut up!"

What couldn't be more than five seconds later, my apartment door opens. Chris appears in nothing but boxers and one of my old shirts. He takes in the scene for roughly a nanosecond before he's lunging himself toward us, catching Adam in a flying tackle that sends them both thumping down the stairs. I stand to chase, thinking that Chris may need help, but my knees give from beneath me and I end up back on the floor. Guess my body decided I'd had enough excitement for one night.

Craning my neck to try and see what's going on, all I can really decipher is thrown fists and a flurry of long, blonde hair. It doesn't last long before Adam is able to escape, his lanky form diving out of reach and then running out of the building. Chris stays on his heels until Adam reaches the street, and he then turns and jogs up the stairs.

I don't know what to say. How could I ever explain to him everything that had happened, and make him understand? I don't even understand half of it myself.

Chris grabs me by the arms and hauls me to my feet, dragging me into the apartment and locking the door behind us. We go straight for the bedroom, where he deposits me onto the bed and instantly begins pacing.

"What the hell is going on, Jeff? Why aren't you with Matt?"

I take a deep breath, and begin the story. I lay it all out to him; even about blowing Adam in the bathroom, something that I'd planned to take to my grave before Amy had to go and open her big mouth. I tell him about Matt and his promise, and everything he said to me as I was leaving. And then my meeting with Adam on the street.

He's sitting next to me by the time I'm done, shaking his head and apparently at a loss for words.

"Are you all right? I mean, he didn't.. get anywhere, right?"

"No, no. Just.. touched me."

Chris nods slowly, and I can see something forming behind his eyes. "Go get in the shower, Jeff."

The last thing I want right now is to be alone, but I don't want to come off as overly needy, so I follow Chris' direction. I'm moving on autopilot as I walk into the bathroom and strip down and then step into the spray of hot water. It feels nice, but the silence leaves me plenty of time to think about everything, and makes me want to get numb.

I'm shaking and crying and barely even realize it, because it doesn't matter. All the tears in the world won't bring Matt back.

When I come out of the shower, slightly more collected, Chris is dressed and apparently eager to go somewhere. The thought of him leaving makes my heart sink, but I try not to flash him the puppy dog eyes as I ask.

"Are you going somewhere?"

"You're coming with me. Get dressed."

"What? Where are we going?" Last time I followed Chris unquestioningly, I ended up getting verbally abused by my soul mate and then nearly raped in an alley. I think I'm done with that.

"My place. Adam doesn't know where I live."

Oh. I guess that's a good idea, and so I begin the search for "clean" clothes. Chris just stands in the corner, arms crossed, brooding.

"Chris?"

"What?"

I have to know. "Do you hate me, too?"

He pauses for a moment, as if searching for an answer. Finally, he sighs and pushes away from the wall, coming over to me. He rests his hands on my shoulders and kisses my forehead and cheeks and lips and it feels like Heaven after everything I've just put myself through.

"I don't hate you, baby. You do some fucked up shit sometimes.. but you need help. Who's gonna help you if I ain't around?"

We both know the answer to that, and it's the one I guess I deserve.

After a nice embrace and a lingering kiss, Chris finally pulls away, handing me the clothes I'd selected. "C'mon, get dressed. You need to get to my place and get some sleep."

"You'll be there with me, right?"

"I will be later, baby. Right now, I've got something that needs to be taken care of."


	5. Chapter 5 Chris

I've just dropped Jeff off at my place. Tucked him nice and neat into bed and told him I'd be right back. He gave me the saddest goddamned kicked puppy eyes I've ever seen, but what can I do? I know he's hurting. I've been trying for years now to fix it, because I really do care about the little son of a bitch and his fucking stupid brother, too. It never seems to work, though. I'm going to give it this one last try.

Before I left, I told Jeff that if I come home and find him wasted, that's it. I'm done, and he can go live in a cardboard box for all I care. I meant every word of it, too. I got enough to worry about from his end without the smack. Okay, alright, I admit. I get him high from time to time. But it's only really as an aversion to try and keep him away from the heroin, because that's what fucks him up the most. Maybe not the best method, but so far, it's the only thing that works.

I don't think I have to worry too much about it, though. After everything he's just been through, I think he'll pass the fuck out. Sleep: the body's natural defense mechanism.

Sounds damn good to me. I should be sleeping, too. But, no. I'm walking down the street, hiding behind ugly sunglasses and wondering just what the hell I'm gonna do with all these idiots that surround me. It'd be a lot easier if I didn't actually give a damn.

Matt's door is busted, and it's more than the number I did on it earlier. I let myself in easily, and am not really surprised at the state the place is in. Matt never was really any good at controlling his temper. The walls are littered with holes, furniture upturned, window shattered. There's broken glass all over the carpet.

"Matthew?" I call, but don't receive an answer. I cautiously walk through the rest of the small apartment and down the hall, where I finally find him in his bedroom. He's sitting on the edge of his bed with a small box and a Zippo, torching the items in the box one by one and watching with rapt fascination as they burn.

He doesn't look up at me as I walk in. "Matt?"

Finally, he acknowledges my existence and raises his head. He's pale and sunken looking, dark circles having formed beneath his eyes.

"Get out of here, Chris. I don't need you anymore." His words are slow and quiet, lacking emotion. He just sounds tired. I'm not sure what I've done to him to render myself so unwelcome, but whatever. I'm not leaving yet.

I move over toward him and eventually sit down beside him on the bed. I glance down at his current victim; it's a photograph of him and Jeff which is slowly turning to ashes in his hand. He drops it on the floor and crushes the small flame out with his boot, and then snaps the lighter shut and turns to face me.

"What do you want?"

"Are you sober? You're gonna need to be sober for this."

"For what?"

"Are you?"

"Jesus, Chris, yes! Now tell me what the hell you want and then get the fuck on!"

"Jeff's confused, an--"

The second after Jeff's name leaves my lips, Matt's on his feet and heading toward the door.

"No. Fuck you, and fuck him too. I'm done, just leave me alone." He stomps out of his room and I quickly move to follow, tailing him back into his destroyed living room.

"Just shut up and listen to me for one second."

He heaves an exasperated sigh and turns to face me when he realizes I'm not going to let it go.

"He needs help. He needs you. He loves you and he thinks you hate him--"

"I do."

"Shut up, I said! He's mixed up, that's all! He wants to get clean, he does! But he can't do it by himself and there's always people like you around who make him feel even worse about himself than he already does."

"No! Fuck that! It's not my goddamned responsibility to babysit him! You volunteered for that job, good luck and everything, but it ain't my problem! Now Jesus, Chris, just get out of here before I have to show you the goddamned door."

"Yeah? Is that what you're gonna do, Matt? You're gonna 'show me the goddamned door'"?

I know I shouldn't challenge him. This isn't about him and me, but he's really starting to piss me off.

"Just leave, Chris. I don't wanna get into this with you."

"Well, I'm not leavin'. So do what you gotta do, Matt."

I'm not expecting to get shoved. Punched, maybe, because Matt has the quickest fists in town. But he shoves me backward toward the door and I stumble back, catching the doorjamb to keep from falling.

"Just mind your own fuckin' business and get the hell out of here. I don't want anything to do with you or him."

He's a stubborn fucker, that's for sure, but I think maybe he just needs to get his aggression out. That's just what Matt does. Maybe his apartment wasn't enough. He needs another person to feel his wrath. And maybe to knock a little bit of sense into him, too.

Just as I wasn't expecting to get shoved, I can tell that I catch him by surprise when I lunge for him, pushing off the wall for some extra momentum. I catch him around the waist and we both hit the floor. By the time his back impacts, he's back on his game and trying to flip me over to get the upper hand.

I manage to keep the dominant position, but Matt retaliates by sending a hard right hook to my jaw. The punch knocks me a bit silly and Matt is able to shift his weight to pin me beneath him. I've succeeded in pissing him off now and he doesn't pull any punches, driving his fists repeatedly into my face and abdomen. I'm able to block some of the blows and even throw a few of my own, making his nose bleed and his eye start to swell.

After one more especially brutal hit, Matt just stops as if commanded by some higher force. He looks down at me as if he's just now coming back into his own body and has no idea what the previous occupant had been doing. His blood is trickling down from his right nostril and dripping onto his lip and the collar of my shirt, mixing with my own blood, I'm sure.

"Feel better, now?" I choke the words out, and they're followed by a wad of quickly coagulating blood from the inside of my cheek that I spit onto the already ruined carpet.

"If you care so much, tell me what the fuck I'm supposed to do, Jericho," he nearly pleads as he pushes himself off of me and gets back to his feet, mopping the blood away from his face with the back of his hand. Violence always clears things up for Matt. Somehow makes everything more simple in his mind; easier to figure out. "He's my fuckin' flesh and blood. And there's no middle ground with him! I either have to be fucking him or hating him. He won't let me love him like a brother is supposed to!"

"It's not like that, and you know it," I reason, pushing myself up into a sitting position on the floor. I can feel the broken glass from the window slowly digging into my palms, but it's a cursory matter right now that is easily ignored. "I need to tell you something and now maybe since you've gotten some of the violence out of your system, you'll be able to hear it."

"What is it?"

"Your brother almost got raped this morning."

"What?"

"Yeah. Adam caught him on his way home. Had him pinned down in an alley somewhere. He got loose and ran, and was able to get home to me so I could take care of it. He didn't want to do what he did with Adam, Matt. He just did it because he's fucked up in the head. And he's fucked up in the head over you. You're the only one that can help him, really help him.. and you won't even try."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Did you kill the dickless piece of shit that touched my brother?"

"No. Why, should I have? You mean, you don't really think your brother deserves to be raped in some back alley somewhere? I thought you hated him."

At that, he turns to give me a look that very clearly asks if I want to bleed some more. All I can do is look up at him from the floor, and hope that something I've said or done has helped him come to his senses.

"I know you're goin' through hell, too. But he's dyin', Matt. And he's gonna do it slow and painful if someone doesn't stop him. And right now, he doesn't care about anyone enough to listen to them, except for you."

After pushing myself back to my feet and regaining my bearings, I head for the door while brushing the glass shards from my palm. I take a moment to try and straighten myself up, running my fingers back through my hair, before opening the door to leave.

He watches me and I watch him back, and even though we've just beat the ever loving shit out of each other, there are no apologies between us. We did things Matt's way, and that's fine. There's nothing but clear understanding.

"Just think about it, okay? Stay here and think about everything. I'll come back tonight to see what you've decided and if you want to come with me or not."

"Come with you where?" he asks, suspiciously. I'm surprised he hasn't thought of it himself.

"To go find Adam."


	6. Chapter 6 Chris

I get plenty of looks on my way back over to my place, and they range from three different categories: curious, concerned, and disgusted. I haven't seen myself yet, so I don't know exactly what my face looks like, but I can still taste blood in my mouth and it's hard to see out of my left eye. My cheekbone is so swollen that my sunglasses don't fit right, and so I'm openly walking down the middle of the street in broad daylight, looking like I've just lost one hell of a boxing match.

As I expected, Jeff is asleep when I finally get home. I make my way into the bathroom, being as quiet as possible, and the mirror re-tells the story of what had just happened. My skin is split at my lip and eyebrow, but it's not bad enough to need stitches. Once I wash up and get the swelling down, it shouldn't be so bad.

Cold showers suck, but I figure the cool water will probably be better for my mangled face and maybe take a little of the ache out of my ribs. Soap doesn't exactly feel nice, either, but I've gotta get it clean. Who knows where the hell Matt's been, anyway? Heh, well, I guess I do. But, still.

I wonder what will happen when we get to Adam tonight. Well, actually, I suppose that's kind of a given. We'll beat the fuck out of him for what he did to Jeff. But, more specifically, I wonder what will happen afterward. I've been pushing for what seems like forever to get Matt and Jeff back together. And during that time, I know I've been using both of them for my own personal agenda. If I finally am able to create a miracle and get those two back where they belong, what's going to become of the "relationships" I have with both of them? They'll become nonexistent, I guess.

The thought makes me a little lonely, and so I hop out of the shower and dry off, and then crawl into my bed that Jeff has already made warm. He instinctively shifts into my heat and I have to move my head to the side to avoid getting slapped in the face as he wraps his arm around me. Having him against me feels nice, but it still doesn't do anything to stop the tormenting thoughts in my head.

It's been years since I've been without either one or the other. I always got caught up in their drama, which was always doubled, them being both lovers and brothers. Now that it really comes down to it, can I really do the selfless thing and walk away if that's what needs to be done? I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

"Fuck, Chris, what happened?!"

This is what I'm awakened to.

I blink upward, to see Jeff staring at me in horror. I'm totally confused as to what he's talking about, until I realize that I'm only looking at him through one eye.

"Oh. I had a talk with your brother."

Jeff's eyes darken a little, and he sits up straight in bed.

"Matt did this to you?"

I'm honored by the protectiveness my cute little boyfriend is showing, really, but the last thing I need is even more heat between the two of them. And we haven't even really gotten to the tricky part, yet.

"Don't worry about it, baby. He probably looks just like me right about now."

I take him by his chin and pull him down for a kiss, and immediately regret it when my lip throbs in protest. He must feel me wince because he pulls back a little, looking down at me with concern.

"Do you want to take something? I have hydrocodone with me, I think. Maybe some oxy--"

"Jeff, for the love of god, please stop talking now."

He looks at me completely baffled, clueless as to why I wouldn't want to hear the rundown of his personal pharmacy.

"Alright, whatever. Hey, are you goin' out tonight, Chris? Is it alright if I stay here? I really don't feel like leavin', what with what happened earlier an' all."

And here I thought the "tricky part" of this plan was going to be getting Jeff to stay home so me and big brother can go defend his honor. However, something tells me that this stroke of luck is just a little too good to be true.

"Yeah, I'm goin' out tonight. What are you gonna do, here alone by yourself?"

His eyes shift away immediately, but his lips and voice work automatically. I wonder if he even hears what he's saying anymore.

"Oh, nothin'. Probably just stay here and sleep some more. Maybe watch some movies."

How do you know when a junkie is lying? His lips are moving. Yeah, I know. It's not funny.

There's no way I can stop him from getting high tonight. I'm not going to be here to babysit, and there are no threats I can think of that'll have any effect on him. There's no one I can call to keep an eye on him, either. No one, that is, that wouldn't be happy jumping into his heroin induced state right along with him. The only thing that might, might work is to tell him what's really going on tonight. Which, for all I know, could bring the plan to a screeching halt. Fuck.

"Chris? Somethin' the matter?"

I shake the hair out of my face and smile up at him with the most convincing smile I can muster, which is quickly faded by my scabbed over lip. "I was just thinking about what I'm gonna do to you when I get home. You know, I probably won't be gone very long tonight.. so I hope you're straight when I get back. I've got somethin' big planned for you."

It's the only thing I can think of. I'm not sure if it'll be enough to get him to stay sober or not, but hey, it's the best I can do right now.

He smiles at me and it doesn't come close to reaching his eyes.

* * *

I can tell the instant Matt opens the door that he's coming with me tonight. Not that there was much of a question in my mind to begin with. He on numerous occasions has claimed to "hate" his brother, and they've put each other through more shit than anyone can imagine. But he can't turn off his love, or instinct, and I know he's not going to sit idly by while someone torments Jeff.

He's dressed almost identical to me; long hair pulled back into a ponytail, black wife beater, black pants, black boots. The only differences are he's wearing a long leather trench coat, while my jacket is only waist length. I know this isn't the first time I've gone hunting someone, and I suspect that it isn't Matt's first time, either.

Also like me, Matt's face is swollen and bruised. I'm worse, by far, but it still brings me grim satisfaction to see his black eye. It's also a bit of a turn on, but I try to ignore that for the time being. Especially with my whole plan about to go into the works.

We stare at each other for a moment, which isn't really odd. We're on shaky ground right now; not sure if we're supposed to be lovers, enemies, or friends. Even as lovers, Matt never was the most affectionate person I've ever been with.. outside the bedroom, anyway.

"You look like shit," I finally decide on, smiling.

"Yeah, thanks. You, too," he replies while returning my smile. The ice has been re-broken, and he moves out into the hallway with me, closing his mangled door behind him.

Neither of us talk about Jeff, or the situation at hand, as we walk down the hallway and out onto the street. Nightfall is long since complete, cars and streetlights providing all the luminance as we head toward the Pocket. The town is beginning to come alive with our people, the night people, and we blend right in. No one gives us a second glance.

We didn't need to do a lot of recon for this particular mission. Adam's shift starts at ten, and at midnight he'll go out back into the alley for his smoke break. It's just common knowledge, and a routine we've all learned by practically living in the bar night after night.

As soon as we get off the street and into the maze of alleys that run behind the run-down buildings, I glance down at my watch. It's eleven forty nine.

The back door to the Pocket is closed and locked. There's nothing much back here besides two huge dumpsters overflowing with trash, and the rats that are happily feasting on it.

Matt positions himself at the side of one of the dumpsters. His dark clothes and hair aid in hiding him in the shadows, until even I can't see him anymore. I move to the left of the door, where I'll be concealed behind it when it opens.

Now all we have to do it wait. The minutes tick by slowly and with every passing second, the adrenaline in me grows. My heart is beating so hard, I seriously wonder for a moment if the sound will give away my position. I can't help it. There isn't a lot on this planet that causes such an adrenaline rush as knowing you're about to kick the shit out of someone.

The door opens at eleven fifty eight, and Adam emerges, cigarette already in his mouth. He doesn't notice me until I reach over and slam the door closed behind him. He freezes like a deer caught in the headlights, looking at me. It wouldn't take a genius to realize why I'm here.

I'm glad the cigarette isn't lit as I throw the first punch into his mouth. He makes a strangled sound of surprise, but it seems that the hit is what he needed to snap him out of his shock. He uses the momentum to turn away from me, and try to run. Coward.

He doesn't get far, though. Matt seems to materialize from the darkness, trapping Adam between the two of us. He stops, staring at Matt and then glancing over his shoulder to look at me. The wild look in his eyes says he's fucked, and he damn well knows it.

You might be thinking that this isn't right, two of us ganging up against one. The thought briefly occurs to me, too, as Matt pistons his right boot into Adam's knee, taking it out with a sickening cracking sound and sending Adam to the asphalt, nearly screaming. Once he's on the ground, its easier for Matt and I; Matt breaking his nose and me working on his ribs. Yeah, I know. Kicking a man that's already down doesn't exactly sit right with me, either. But I remember what Jeff looked like after their encounter, and it eases my conscience.

Finally, I stop, my muscles aching slightly from the repeated kicking. Matt, having found a very suitable outlet for his anger, doesn't seem to have any control over what he's doing. Blood is pooling out over the concrete, and I realize that Matt isn't going to stop on his own accord until Adam is dead. I didn't bargain for that. I want retaliation, not prison.

I know very well that I'm liable to get laid out for this, but I move up behind Matt and grab him around the waist, pivoting and turning him away from Adam. We're both breathing hard and sweating, and surprisingly, Matt doesn't try and fight me when I grab him. I keep my arms around his midsection, not trusting to let go of him just yet, and we both look down at our victim.

Adam is sprawled out on the ground, his left leg lying at an unnatural angle. Blood is simply pouring from his nose and he's sputtering and trying to learn how to breathe liquid. I'm honestly shocked that he's still conscious.

I pat Matt once on the shoulder and then release him, turning to walk out of the alley and trusting that he'll follow me. Our job here is done, and I don't think we'll have anything else to worry about from Adam.

I freeze in my tracks when I hear the soft snick of metal against metal. God, I hope that wasn't what it sounded like.

I turn back to see Matt still standing before Adam, the soft light from the bulb hung above the door glinting off of the gun held in Matt's trembling hand. It's pointed directly at Adam's head. Adam is vaguely aware of what's about to happen to him, I think, but there isn't anything he can do about it. His body is too beaten to move, and his lips are too swollen to be able to speak and beg for mercy.

"Matt," my voice is shaking. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do now, but I know I have to keep him calm enough to not pull that trigger. "Matt, c'mon. It's over. Let's just go."

He looks over at me and I can see tears glistening in his eyes. "It's not over, Chris. This sonofabitch tried to rape my brother. My Jeff. It ain't gonna be over until he's in the fuckin' ground."

Fuck. I feel like I'm in one of those nightmares where you're being chased by something, but can't seem to move to get away from it. Finally, I manage to make my way over to Matt's side, watching his face intently and hoping that there is at least enough sense left in him to be able to reason with. Whoever finds Adam back here, beaten half to death, might not even know who did it. If they do figure it out, they'll likely have sense enough to keep their mouth shut about it. Gunshots will bring people running. Yeah, I know, it doesn't make much sense to me, either. But, it's true. People will turn into witnesses, and witnesses will turn into questioning and questioning will turn into an investigation. We pretty much own this part of town, but there's still only so much we can get away with.

"Matt, if you do this… if you kill him, you'll never see Jeff again. Do you understand that? You'll go to prison, and so will I, and then who's gonna take care of Jeff? You can't do this. He needs you too much for you to fuck yourself over like this. Now just put the gun away, and let's get the fuck on, alright?"

It seems like an eternity as I watch Matt's face, trying to see what he's going to do. His hand is shaking harder, making the gun increasingly unsteady, until he finally lowers it to his side. Adam and I both let out a long breath.

He leans down next to Adam's head and speaks lowly to him. I can't make out anything that he says, but Adam manages to quickly nod his head in a frantic reply, and that seems to satisfy Matt. He gets back to his feet and tucks the gun into the waistband of his pants, hidden by his long coat. I extend my hand to him and he takes it, still shaking, and we walk out of the alley together, leaving Adam behind to be found by whoever happens to wander along.

I'm not entirely sure why, but Matt and I hold hands the entire way back to his apartment. It's comforting in a way, and eventually, he stops shaking.

As on the journey down, no words are spoken as we walk back. All I can do is picture Matt with the gun in his hand and what would've happened had he actually used it. I wonder if Matt has ever killed anyone before, and pity the next person that wrongs Jeff.

When we reach Matt's door, he releases me and walks in, leaving it open. I stand out in the hall, not exactly sure what to do. I told Jeff that I wouldn't be gone long, but I'm fairly sure that he's back at my place and not even semi aware of what's going on around him. I shouldn't be here, though, if I'm seriously going to work on reuniting them for good.

Matt interrupts my train of thought by reaching out and beckoning me into the apartment. Discarding reason, I move to follow.


	7. Chapter 7 Chris

-1"I want to see Jeff," he says to me expectantly, as if I'm going to snap my fingers and conjure his brother from thin air. I wish I could do that, because then I could also use my magic powers to make Jeff clean, and I know that right now, he isn't.

I shake my head and move to Matt, wrapping my arms around his waist. He looks at me questioningly for a moment, before he realizes what I'm doing. My hands emerge from beneath his coat holding what I'm guessing is a 9mm. I walk over to set it down on the coffee table.

"Let him rest by himself. He's at my place and he's safe. I'll stay here tonight and we'll go see him tomorrow."

"Fine," he says, stripping off his coat, followed by his shirt. They're both tossed carelessly on the couch and I follow him then into his bedroom.

I'm not accustomed to sleeping over at Matt's place, because Amy was usually here. I pause and wait to see what side of the bed he takes, and then situate myself beside him. After kicking off his boots, he lounges back against the headboard wearing nothing but his black jeans, and lights up a cigarette.

He smokes in silence for a moment before I decide to ask my question.

"Matt? Were you honestly gonna shoot him?"

He's quiet for another minute and I think perhaps he's just going to pretend I didn't say anything at all. Finally, he looks over at me, and I feel him shrug.

"I'm not sure. I wanted to."

"Why didn't you?"

"'Cause you were right. I can't take care of Jeff from behind bars."

"So does that mean you're actually gonna start takin' care of Jeff?"

"I'm gonna try. If he lets me."

"He will," I reply, and am surprised at the sudden pang of sadness in my chest.

The room is mostly dark, lit only by the neon lights outside reflecting into the single window, and the cherry of Matt's cigarette. All I can see of him is his silhouette in the shadows.

He reaches over to his nightstand and snubs out his cigarette in the ashtray there, and then rolls onto his side toward me. He places his hand on my stomach and scoots close enough that I can feel his body heat lashing against me. With a knot of excitement tight in my belly, I turn my face toward him and his lips are about an inch from mine.

"Thank you," he whispers. "For caring so much about my brother."

"I care about you, too, y'know." I silently curse myself as soon as the words have left my mouth. They have enough drama of their own without having to deal with mine. That, and I don't really want to admit my feelings for them to anyone. Including myself.

He doesn't voice a reply, and I can't see his face well enough to determine his reaction. His kiss is a surprise, but familiar enough for me to return it without hesitation.

They're so different in their feel and technique, and for the first time, I actually take time to marvel in it. Our tongues are flickering against one another, and I can taste nicotine and Matt's own unique flavor.

When he shifts his weight to move atop me, I realize that it is no longer my place to be in this position. If anyone belongs in Matt's bed, beneath the seductive weight of his body, it's Jeff. But somehow, with Matt kissing me and dipping his hands beneath my clothing, I can't bring myself to tell him to stop.

He sits up and moves to sit on the edge of my bed, divesting himself of what little clothing he had left. I lay there and try to catch my breath, but he seems to think that is a waste of time, indeed. As soon as he's naked, he goes to work on me, removing my clothes in such a hurry that it makes me chuckle.

When he stretches out over me again, his bare skin against mine causes what almost feels like an electrical current running through us both. His erection slides languidly against mine, making us both shudder and groan into each others mouths. I can't chase the picture of Jeff out of my head, and the thought that this is not how it's supposed to be. But I reason with myself that this will be the last time, and it's just an intimate way of saying goodbye.

Matt, in this moment, seems as though he's able to read my thoughts. Whereas our sex before had usually been fast paced and intense, this time he's drawing out every movement as if he, too, knows this will be the last time and wants to thoroughly enjoy it, as well.

I'm surprised when he pushes himself up onto his knees, straddling my hips. It isn't exactly rare that we have sex face to face, but he does tend to prefer it on his hands and knees with me behind him. I wasn't lying when I told Jeff that I thought Matt wanted to pretend I was him. It never bothered me. Much.

He's leaning over me and fumbling around through the drawer in the nightstand, searching for lube. I can't exactly see, but I guess that he's found it when he sits back up straight again. I expect him to hand it over, and a flush of heat rages through me when I hear him gasp raggedly and realize that he's preparing himself.

I decide that this is way too good to be missed, and so I blindly throw my hand out toward the nightstand, searching for the switch on the lamp. Finally, I find it and flip it on, and it fills the room with soft yellow light.

Matt is straddling me with his back arched and his head rolling backward on his shoulders. He's got one hand behind him, working fingers into himself, while the other is slowly stroking over his dripping cock. The sight is amazing, and all I can do is watch him open-mouthed, counting myself lucky that I'm here to witness such a thing.

After several moments, he looks down at me and grabs the lube back up from where he'd tossed it. Rubbing a dollop into his hand, he reaches down and wraps strong fingers around me, pumping over my hard on and slicking me up. When he's satisfied, he moves up and positions his hips above me, holding the base of my cock as he starts lowering himself.

We both moan when my head insinuates past the initial tight ring of muscle, and he continues working himself down until I'm completely enveloped within his heat. He's panting, and holding still for a moment to allow himself to get used to the sensation. I reach up and grab the rubber band that holding his hair at bay, letting his dark curls fall about his shoulders and frame his face. When he gets his wits back, he returns the favor and lets my hair loose to fan across the pillow that I'm lying against.

When he starts to move, I slide my hands down his chest and stomach and let them come to rest on his hips, guiding the rhythm of his body and arching up off the bed to meet him. The room is filled with groans and the wet smack of skin against skin, and I lament for a moment _how I'll miss this _before being distracted by the pleasure once more.

I can't drag my eyes away from him as he rides me. His hands are on my chest, fingers kneading my skin probably hard enough to leave bruises. He's got his head tossed back and his eyes closed, his hair and forehead damp with sweat. I can see the muscles in this thighs rippling beneath his skin as he works his legs and shifts his hips against me.

Matt is such a thick skinned person in day to day life. All he shows to people is his rough exterior and his willingness and ability to take on anyone who dares challenge him. But in this moment, as he reaches up to almost frantically start stroking himself to climax, I delight in seeing him let go.

He starts whispering words under his breath, punctuated by his moans, and they're enough to make me grab his hips tighter and start pounding upward into him.

"Yeah, c'mon, Chris. Fuck me.. yeah, just like that. Mmm.. close."

After another few moments, he tenses and shudders and his release splatters hot and sticky against my chest and stomach. The feeling of him tightening around me and the visual image of him losing control is enough to finish me off. The orgasm is mindblowing, to say the least, and after I've emptied myself inside him, my body is tingling and all I can see are shadows in front of my eyes.

I'm vaguely aware of him rolling off of me and back to his side of the bed. When he's done cleaning up, he tosses the towel to me and I lazily wipe myself clean. Afterward, he resumes the position he'd been in before all this started: leaning propped up against the headboard with a cigarette in his mouth. I accept when he offers me one, and he lights it for me, and we smoke in silence for quite a while.

When the cigarettes are gone, we settle ourselves beneath the sheets. We don't touch; there's nothing between us now that would insinuate we're anything except close friends. Somehow, that's okay. We had our moment.

* * *

I'm up, showered, and dressed before Matt is even anything resembling awake. I'm in the bathroom, leaning over the counter and staring at myself in the mirror when he finally walks in. I turn from examining my battered reflection, meeting his eyes. He's still naked and tossed from bed, with a air of satisfaction around him. It's nice to know I'm the one that put it there.

He moves past me and starts the shower up again, letting it run for a minute to get hot. I want to ask something from him, but I don't want to ruin the place we're at right now. It's a good place to be.

Finally, he turns and looks at me over his shoulder. "What is it, Chris? Why ya starin' at me?"

I sigh and lean against the bathroom counter. "I have a favor to ask of you. I know I have no right.. but I think it would really help me out a lot."

This seems to catch his full attention and he stands up straight again, swiveling his body to face me completely. "Yeah? An' what's that?"

"Let me go alone to talk to Jeff, first. There's just a few things I want to say to him before you guys start workin' shit out. I'll send him back to his apartment as soon as we're done, and you can meet him there.. okay?"

He seems to consider this for a moment, eyes darting back and forth in thought, before he finally looks at me again and nods in agreement. He's being more understanding than I ever thought possible, and I can't express to him in words how grateful it makes me.

I slide my hand into my pocket and extract my key ring, slowly working Jeff's front door key from the collection. I set it down on the bathroom counter with a soft clink, and look up at Matt. "In case you get there before he does. I won't need it anymore, anyway."

A look passes between us, and I'm not entirely sure what it means. I'm trying hard to keep the disappointment and resentment out of my face, and Matt looks like he's trying hard to decipher just what it is that I'm thinking.

When I turn to leave, he doesn't make any move to try and stop me.


	8. Chapter 8 Jeff

I'm not really sure what to think right now. Chris left last night with promises that he wouldn't be gone long at all. I was supposed to stay coherent, because apparently he was going to have some sort of surprise for me when he got home from his "very short outing."

Well, I did stay coherent. I went back to sleep after he left and then I stayed up all night watching old movies on cable and glancing over at the still closed front door. The temptation was there, but for once in my whole entire life, I wanted to keep from disappointing Chris. I stayed completely sober. He never came home.

It's morning now, and what the fuck am I supposed to do? I don't know whether to be worried, pissed off, or indifferent. I know for damn sure that I want to get high. I feel sick and I know that just a little bit of what I'm craving will take that away.

After a few minutes of internal debate, I finally decide to go home and cook up. Fuck what Chris thinks about it. If he's not gonna keep his promises, then why the hell should I keep mine?

I get dressed as quickly as possible and am in the process of putting my shoes on when I hear a key in the lock. I hear the front door open, and close, and Chris is in the doorway to the bedroom a moment later. He looks perfectly fine, or at least as fine as when he left last night. He's still all beat up from his encounter with Matt, but other than that. His hair is wet as if he's just been in a shower and there appears to be a small hickey on his neck.

He stares at me, probably in shock that I'm actually awake and functioning. He doesn't seem to have anything to say.

"Did you have fun last night? 'Cause I sure as hell didn't."

"Fuck, I'm sorry, Jeff. Things got sorta crazy last night. Wait 'til you hear the story, you'll get it."

"Where'd you stay the night?"

He tries to hide the wince, and he does a pretty good job, but I can still see it. He doesn't pause, trying to act nonchalant, as if he has nothing to be ashamed of. I can tell I'm not going to like this answer.

"With Matt."

I need to sit down on the edge of the bed and let that process for a minute. I'm not sure if I have any right to be upset, or not. Chris and Matt have been having sex for quite a while now, and I've always known about it. It's never been a completely comfortable situation for me, but if Matt was going to fuck around, I was glad it was with someone that I knew and trusted, and even slept with myself. I could always use Chris as a lifeline to Matt. But Matt was always with Amy before, and Chris never spent the night at his apartment. They'd have sex, and then Chris would come back home to me. The image of them sleeping together, cuddled contentedly in bed, turns my stomach. I'm not entirely sure if I'm jealous over Matt, or Chris.

Chris comes and kneels on the floor in front of me, putting his hands on my thighs. "Things are changing, Jeff. It's gonna be hard to deal with, but I think it's gonna be a lot better for you."

Changing? My boyfriend comes back from spending the entire night fucking my brother and now I'm gonna get a speech about changing? Suddenly, I'm certain that Chris is going to leave me for Matt. They're going to go off and be a happy couple somewhere, and why not? Amy's gone, and there's nothing stopping them now. It's not like I matter in that equation at all.

I push Chris backward away from me and he ends up on his ass on the floor. Standing, I step around him quickly and start heading for the door. This is it. This is the last straw, and I can't take anymore of it.

Chris makes it to the door the same time I do and blocks my path. He's talking, but my heart is pounding and I can't hear much over the blood rushing in my ears. I start to feel weak and am semi aware of Chris grabbing me before I fall.

"Jesus, Jeff, would you stop being such a goddamned drama queen and just listen to me for half a second?!"

I don't want to listen to him, but I probably don't have much of a choice right now. The sheer idea of Matt and Chris both abandoning me has rendered me unable to function. All I can do is let Chris hold me up and concentrate on breathing. I can't even cry.

He leads me back into the bedroom and sits me on his bed once more. I glare at him, but don't try to make any more moves to escape.

He begins pacing back and forth across the floor, continually running his hands through his long hair, nervously. I am not amused.

Finally, he stops and turns to face me. There's an emotion swirling in those blue eyes that I've never really seen from Chris before, and it takes me a minute to be able to pinpoint it. It occurs to me, at last, that it's sadness.

"Matt and I were together last night sorting through everything. We went and took care of Adam. Took care of him good. He won't bother you again, darlin'. Then we went back to his apartment, and.. said goodbye. I'm stepping aside, Jeff. You and Matt need to be together, and neither one of you need me to interfere anymore. It's all up to you two, now."

It takes quite a while for his words to sink in, and I'm left simply sitting on his bed, staring up at him dumbfounded. I start to speak even though I'm not sure at all what I'm about to say, but it doesn't really matter. Chris cuts me off.

"I'm always gonna be here for you, Jeff. And for Matt, too. But only as a friend to both of you. Anything else just wouldn't be right."

I try to catch his eyes, but he turns away from me, shaking his hair in front of his face and using it as a curtain to hide behind. I don't know what the fuck to feel, now. Is my dream really coming true, and I'll be able to be with Matt again? I've longed for that more than anything, but I never expected it to happen this way. I never thought I'd see Chris looking so.. defeated.

When I feel that I'm able to, I stand from the bed and move to Chris. Taking him gently by the arm, I turn him around to face me. He still won't look at me, and I have to reach up to tuck the stray strands of hair behind his ears so I can see his face.

"Chris, I.. I've never been so confused in my whole life. Tell me what happened last night. Everything."

And so, he does. We sit Indian style on the bed, facing each other, as he maps out for me everything that had taken place last night. As he's going on, it occurs to me that it's a stark contrast, violence to sex.. but it doesn't surprise me in the least. That's the way Matt is.

I know it might make me a worse person than I already am, but I'm glad about what they did to Adam. Part of it was my fault, sure, but I didn't ask to get held down and violated in some alley, or chased home fearing for my life.

Chris kindly skips over all the detail of what had happened once they got back to Matt's apartment. He tells me that yes, they had sex, and it was their way of saying goodbye to each other. He says that it didn't really mean anything more to him than all the other times it happened, even if he did stay all night. He's turning into just as much of a liar as me, but I decide not to bring that to his attention.

In the middle of his tale, Chris reaches out and grabs my hand and it surprises me, because his touch is more harsh than anything else. I look down, and realize that I must have been rubbing the tracks on my arm without realizing it. The prospect of being with Matt again has momentarily chased away the desire to get high from the front of my mind, but I guess I can't help my subconscious. He holds my hand, stopping me from what I'd been unknowingly doing, as he finishes up his story.

"So, you see, Jeff? This is your chance. Matt's waiting for you right now at your apartment. I gave him my key. Go to your brother."

How can I possibly refuse that? But on the same note, how can I possibly walk away from the man that has been there to take care of me, every single time I needed him? I turn my hand over in his, squeezing it gently. He tolerates it for a moment before pulling away.

"Go on, Jeff," he whispers to me.

Finally, I stand from the bed, not seeing any other option. Chris follows my lead and stands as well, and together we walk to the front door. He's trying to hide the emotion, not wanting it to come through on his face or in those expressive eyes, and that's okay.. because I don't want to see it, anyway.

I lean in and catch his lips and he hesitates for a minute before he wraps me up in his arms and kisses me back with everything he has. Somehow, it's different than all the other kisses we've shared since knowing each other. It's softer, and sweeter, and sad. When we part, Chris plants one more kiss on my forehead, and then opens the door for me.

I know that I have to do this, and why should it be that hard, really? Every wish that I've made on every star for as long as I can remember is about to come true. So why does it hurt so damn much?

My vocal chords decide to work without my consent, and I hear myself spouting words that I'm not entirely sure if I really mean.

"I'll come back, Chris. You've never left me alone, and I'm not gonna leave you. I'll come back, I swear it."

He gives me a watery smile and nods his pretty head and closes the door gently in my face.


	9. Chapter 9 Matt

I slide the key that Chris gave me into the lock, turn it, and step into my brother's apartment.

Instantly, I'm hit with a nostalgia that I've never felt before. I can remember exactly the last time I was here. My brain recalls every detail of lying in bed, with Jeff naked and curled around me, sleeping as peacefully as a kitten. Deciding then that this was not good for either of us, and sliding out of bed to pack my bags. There wasn't much to take, and Jeff never woke up as I went about my errand. I left him a note stuck to the inside of the front door with his pocket knife. It said, "I love you, brother. I'm sorry. Never again. Matt."

I came to the decision to leave in the span of about three minutes. It honestly had never crossed my mind before, because everything that had ever happened between us had always felt so right. Impulsive decisions always have been something I'm "good" at, I guess. And they've generally landed me in bad places.

The simple action of standing up, getting dressed, and throwing some clothes into a bag started the most hectic turn of events I've ever known in my life. Jeff found me at The Pocket the next night, questioning and pleading until I couldn't take it anymore. I left, and told him that I didn't want to see him again until he could act like a man. It would be the first of many times that I broke my brother's heart.

Seeing him falling apart was something that I couldn't handle. So, I took the easy way out. I kept away from the places I knew he'd be. I refused to answer the door to my new apartment, and just cranked up the television when he'd stand out in the hall for hours at a time and bang on the door, until one of the neighbors chased him off, or threatened to call the cops. I turned my sadness and guilt into anger and denial, and I took it out on anyone who stumbled into my life.

Almost everything that has happened since then is a blur. Chris, Amy, Adam.. Jeff's middle of the night phone calls, all my friend's questioning looks. The fights, the overnighters, the liquor. It all comes together inside my head like a malignant tumor, causing endless headaches and bad dreams. The bitch of it all is that I brought it upon myself. And I brought it all upon Jeff, too.

I find my way into his bedroom. It's halfway clean, and I know that must be by Chris' influence. I sit down amongst the tangled sheets on his bed, and am viciously assaulted by Jeff's scent. It twists my stomach and makes my heart begin to beat about a mile a minute.

Jeff could come walking through that door at any second, and just what the hell am I supposed to say to him? 'I'm sorry I almost killed you, let's go back to being a happy incestuous couple'? The sad thing is, he would probably immediately fall into my arms if I did say that. But, I know in whatever is left of my heart that there isn't anything I could say to him that would be good enough. There's nothing I can do to give back everything I took away from him. So what the fuck am I doing here?

It crosses my mind that I should just leave and forget the whole thing. The damage has already been done, it's irreversible, and Jeff doesn't really need me anyway. All I would end up doing is hurting him even more, and I'm not sure how much more he could really take.

Such thoughts are promptly chased away by the sound of the front door opening and closing.

I sit, frozen on his bed, and wait. I can't breathe, I can't think, and I have no fucking clue in the world what I'm going to say to him. What if he's still fucked up from whatever he may have been doing while I was with Chris last night? I wouldn't know how to handle that at all.

Hours seem to go by before he finally appears in the doorway. He looks genuinely surprised to see me here, and why not? Have I ever come through for him, and actually did what I said I was going to do?

When I move to stand from his bed, a crazy thought crosses my mind. My subconscious screams at me that I should stay sitting, that leaving this bed was what caused the whole thing to begin with, and that I should just live in it for the rest of my life. I tell the little voice to shut the fuck up, and stand to face my brother.

His eyes are clear and he seems perfectly alert, which is a relief. He just stands in the doorway, looking like a child with his multi-colored streaked hair and shy demeanor. I can tell that he doesn't know what to say, either.

Not knowing what else to do, I extend my arms toward him. He perks up a little bit, instinctively steps toward me, and then pauses. Once bitten, twice shy, I guess you'd say. And Jeff's been all out attacked more times than probably either one of us can count.

"C'mere," I whisper to him, keeping my voice as low and soothing as I can. He closes the distance between us and steps into my embrace, instantly returning it. He hugs me like he's holding on for dear life, and I chuckle breathlessly as he goes about trying to squeeze all the air out of my lungs.

When he finally pulls back to look at me, his green eyes are swirling with emotion and unanswered questions. He opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it again. I know how my brother thinks, and I know he's trying to hold back any words that could possibly conjure up an argument, not wanting this moment to ever end. I can't blame him. But I also know that this can't just go back to the way it was before with a snap of our fingers.

I let go of Jeff, and he looks terrified for a brief second, before he realizes that I'm just sitting down again. I let myself lounge against the headboard, and when I hold my arms out to him once again in invitation, he beams. Like a puppy, he bounds onto the bed and gets himself situated between my outstretched legs, snuggling his head into my chest. It occurs to me that I haven't seen a burst of energy like that from him in a very long time.

"I know you don't want to, but we have to talk, Jeff."

I feel him tense against me, and respond as gently as I can by reaching up to stroke his soft hair.

"What is there to talk about?"

I'm so shocked at his question, that at first, I can't think of one single answer. What do we need to talk about? Is he kidding?

"Um. Oh, how about you, and me, and Chris, and Adam, and Amy? About your drugs, and my binge drinking, and what we've been doing to each other for so long? And what we're going to do to fix it?"

"You mean it, Matt? You really want to fix it?"

"Well, what the fuck do you think I'm here for? My health?"

He smiles, and is quiet for a long time. I can almost hear the gears in his head turning as he contemplates the list of topics I've just laid out. Finally, he speaks. While doing so, he cuddles closer to me, as if he's afraid something he says will make me leave again.

"The drugs were because of you, Matt. I'm not blaming you, but.. you know that. If I have you, I don't need them. And Adam.. well, that was just part of the drugs. I couldn't think straight, you know? I know I got myself into a huge mess, and I know you helped get me out of it. I'm sorry you had to."

He stops again, mentally going down the checklist, and then comes up with his next category.

"What about Amy?" he asks, rolling his eyes upward so he can see my face.

"She's pissed that I kicked her out. She'll be even more pissed that I kicked her out so I could sleep with my little brother."

"So? Fuck her and what she thinks about it. Unless you actually care about her opinion. What, are you in love with her?"

"Fuck, no. I got trashed one night at the Pocket, and she was there. Her hair was dyed, her fingernails were black, and she was wearing ugly fluorescent clothes. At that point in time, she looked pretty damned good to me. Reminded me of someone I used to know."

He grins, rolls his eyes, and jabs me in the ribs a few times. I grin back and wrap my arms around him, holding him immobile so he'll stop poking me.

Figuring I might as well return the query, I kiss his temple and whisper to him. "Are you in love with Chris?"

He scoffs and raises his eyebrows incredulously. "Are _you_?"

I'm so taken aback by his quip, I have no idea how to respond. I start to belt out an automatic "no!," but then have to stop myself. Am I in love with Chris?

My mind travels backward through time, collecting every piece of evidence that I could use to make my verdict. Every touch, every kiss.. or at least those that I was sober enough to remember.

But Chris and I usually stuck to our silent agreement. We both wanted Jeff, and used each other when we couldn't have what we really wanted. Or, at least, that was my train of thought. I guess I can't speak for Chris.

Being with Chris was amazing, but it was never something I expected to last. Yeah, I have to admit, near the end I wondered myself if I was falling for him. But all it took was one glimpse of Jeff to figure out where my heart truly was. Chris was a wonderful, addicting way to kill time.

"I love you, Jeff. Just you. You think I would've stuck around for all your bullshit if there were anyone else?"

He shrugs and absently laces his fingers through mine, and then goes silent. He never did answer my question. This fact makes me clear my throat and shift nervously against his back.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Well, are you in love with Chris?"

"I.. I don't know. Maybe I am. Chris is my best friend. I wouldn't want to live without him in my life. Does that mean I'm in love with him?"

My belly twists into knots at my baby brother's words. Anger flares up in me. Anger at Jeff for declaring his undying love for me, and then falling into someone else's arms. Anger at Chris for knowing how I feel about Jeff, and fucking him anyway. But mostly anger at myself, for letting Jeff go in the first place, and allowing all of this to come about.

Jeff must be able to sense my thoughts, because he heaves a sigh and looks down, looking ashamed of himself.

"I'll do whatever you want me to, Matt. I owe you that. If you don't want to be with me because of Chris.. that's your choice, I guess. If you want to fix all this between us and be together, I won't ever touch Chris like that again. It'll be hard, but.. you know I wouldn't do that to you."

"I just want to start over, bro. Forget all this shit that's happened, and just be with you again, and be happy. That sound okay to you?"

"That sounds perfect. It's all I've ever wanted, but.. what if you change your mind again? I mean, I don't even know why you changed your mind in the first place. To have you back, and then lose you again.. I couldn't take that, Matt."

"I know, baby. I.. I was worried. About you. About us. I don't know, I just convinced myself that what we were doing wasn't right. That I had somehow talked you into the whole thing, and that it wasn't fair to you. That you should have the chance at a normal life."

"We had a normal life. We were in love--"

"Are in love," I remind him.

"-- and happy. Yeah, sure, maybe other people looked at us and thought we were sick, or whatever.. but it worked for us. At least, I thought it did, until I woke up that morning and found your note."

"I know. I'm sorry. There's nothing I can ever do to make that up to you."

"There is."

"What? Just tell me, Jeff, and I'll do it."

"Stay this time. Love me. That's all I've ever wanted from you."

"I never stopped loving you. All the things I said to you at my apartment, I didn't mean it. You know better than anyone how I get when I'm angry. And I was hurt, and--"

"I know. It doesn't matter."

I open my mouth to speak again, but Jeff tilts his head toward me and catches my lips with his before I can get any words out. We kiss for several heated minutes, until my chest is tight and its hard to breathe. By the time we break, he's shifted his position so that he's on his knees and straddling my lap. As I'm still propped up against the headboard, our eyes are nearly level, and his face is flushed with excitement and longing.

"So what do ya say, Matty? You gonna stick around for a while this time?"

"For as long as you can possibly stand me."

He lets out a long breath that I didn't realize he'd been holding, and then immediately dives in to take my lips once more. His hands start moving in a frantic manner, removing shoes and clothes, until I literally grab them and make him slow down. There's no reason to rush this; we have all the time in the world.

He stops for a moment, catching his breath, and smiles at me. It's a sweet, genuine smile, and it fills me with warmth and hope for the future.

However, when his fingers find the fly of my jeans and he shifts himself upward so that he can unfasten it, my mind takes quite a turn and lands itself in much different (but still very nice) thoughts.

I close my eyes in anticipation as he tugs my jeans and boxers down to my thighs. My heart is pounding away inside my chest, and I can't seem to catch my breath to save my life. Last time we were this close, a disaster came and stole the moment away. I decide then that if anyone dares come near the front door to this apartment, they'll be dealing with me.

I'm suddenly assaulted by sensation; Jeff's long fingers wrapping around my cock, while he leans down and works the skin of my throat with his mouth. My jaw is hanging slack and my chest is heaving, and though it feels so good, so _right_, I can't seem to get breath enough to make any noise.

My hands are shaking so hard that I seriously doubt they'll be of any use, but I decide to try anyway. You know, I love it and hate it, what Jeff does to me. I hate feeling vulnerable and out of control, but when Jeff is the cause of it, there's no way I can protest.

He's already removed his shirt and shoes, and so I let my trembling fingers tear at his jeans, his button fly popping open like machine gun fire. He releases me and shifts his body so that I can fully divest him of his clothing, and he takes the chance to pull mine the rest of the way off, as well.

I glance down to find him already rock hard, without a single touch from my hand. While teasingly running the tip of my finger up and down his length, I watch the gorgeous expression on his face and the lusty look in his half-lidded jade eyes.

"Which way?" I ask, surprised at how low my voice had gotten. When Jeff and I had sex, we would usually take turns topping, always wanting our relationship to be equal.

"Just like this," he answers just as huskily, grinding his hips into me once to make his point. He reaches over to his nightstand, digs around for a minute, and then hands me a little foil packet and a bottle of lube.

I glance down, slightly surprised at the condom. We'd never used them before, and I wonder which of us he doesn't trust; me, or himself.

He must notice me looking, because he bites down on his lower lip and frowns a little.

"I just thought.. after what you said before about not fucking me 'cause of diseases.."

"Jesus, Jeff. I told you I didn't mean that. Have you even slept with anyone besides Chris since we've been apart?"

"Well, no."

"And do you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

I watch his eyes as I toss the condom aside. "Then I want to feel _you_, Jeff."

He nods quickly and our mouths instinctively seek each other out once more. As our tongues tangle with one another, I blindly fumble with the lube, eventually slicking a good amount of it over myself. But sliding my questing fingers to his opening brings a mewl of protest from his lips, and he pulls from the kiss.

"No. I want you now," he announces, positioning himself at the top of my prominent erection.

"Oh, I.. I don't want to hurt you.."

He looks down at me with a darkly serious glint in his eyes that sends shivers throughout my body. It's a look I've never seen from him before, in all our years. He's usually so flitting, and happy-go-lucky. I'm supposed to be the serious one.

"I want you to hurt me, Matthew. I want to feel this every possible way I can. I dream of this every night. I need to know that this time, it's real."

There is no time for reply or reaction before he lowers himself onto me, closing his eyes and chewing hard on his lower lip, his forehead creasing with concentration, pleasure, and pain.

His words, his face, his actions.. it's all enough to break through what little self control I had. I wrap my arms tight around him and press our chests together. Taking what he'd said as permission to let go, I pull him down on me while driving my hips up off the mattress. He nearly shrieks, tossing his head backward and dragging his blunt fingernails painfully across my back. For a moment, I think that the pain is going to be too much for him, but he allows himself no time to adjust to my intrusion before he's rocking frantically against me and wordlessly begging for more.

I take the opportunity to run my hands over every inch of his skin that I can reach, reacquainting myself with all the curves of his body. He's driving himself against me, and I'm working to keep up, closing my eyes against the sweat that's beginning to trickle down my face.

He's panting for breath and I can feel the frenzied beat of his heart, although I can barely distinguish it from my own. When I know he's tired, I grab his leg and quickly shift our positions, rolling him deftly onto his back and landing atop him, making sure that our contact is never broken.

Immediately, he wraps his legs around my waist and pulls me in deeper. I stifle a moan against his mouth as I pick up from where he left off, relentlessly pounding against him, driven by the sweet cries pouring from his lips.

I let my mouth travel across his cheek and down his jaw line and throat. He obliges me, tilting his head so that I'll have better access. When I reach the tender juncture between his neck and shoulder, I sink my teeth into almost pure muscle, sucking hard at his skin. He nearly sobs beneath me and I feel him tighten, realizing that the pleasure laced with pain was very close to driving him over the edge.

Keeping my mouth locked against him, I continue the desperate rhythm that had been set. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold out, and I can feel his hand between our stomachs, stroking himself quickly to climax. I want to wait for him, but when my teeth finally puncture his flesh and the coppery, sweet taste of his blood invades my mouth, I know it's no use. The thought that I'm inside him, and now a part of him is inside me, drives me past the point of no return.

I tear my mouth from his neck, feeling his blood trickle down my chin as I scream out my release. Halfway through the orgasm, his mouth covers mine and I feel his tongue find his own blood. We cry out into one another's mouths as the pleasure overtakes us both, bodies shaking and spasming together. I'm vaguely aware of the feeling of his cock twitching against me, exploding over both of our stomachs.

Finally, I can't hold myself up anymore, and I fall limp against him. He gasps and then chuckles breathlessly, wrapping his arms around me and rubbing my back in a comforting sort of way. After letting me recover for a moment, he shifts us so that we're both laying on our sides, facing one another.

"I love you, brother," I whisper to him, cuddling as close as physically possible.

"I love you, too," he answers, and I'm aware of one more kiss before I drift off into near unconsciousness.

* * *

I'm not sure how long I slept, but when I return to the waking world, Jeff is sitting on the bed staring down at me in contemplation. He's showered and dressed, and looks slightly upset.

I sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes, pleasantly aware of the aches in my body and the sticky feeling still on my skin.

"Baby? What's wrong?"

"Please, don't be angry with me," he says, his eyes pleading. His tone worries me more than a little, and my mind races to try and think what I might be angry about.

"What? Why.. why would I be angry with you? What are you talkin' about?"

"I have to go back to Chris."

Seven words. They're just seven words, but they're enough to make my blood run cold.

"You _what_?"

"Not.. not like that! Matty, he's heartbroken. He won't let anybody see it, especially not us, but I know him and he is. When I left, I told him I'd come back. I'm just going to go and _talk _to him, okay?"

Oh. Oh, thank god. I'm really quite fond of my brother, and of Chris. I really didn't want to have to strangle them both to death. I let out a sigh of relief and relax against the bed, running my fingers through my hair to try and straighten it a bit.

"Fuckin' Christ, Jeff, don't scare me like that. Of course I don't care if you go talk to Chris. I don't expect you to not see him ever again, you know."

He smiles, and then leans over to plant a lingering kiss against my lips. When he pulls back, he hops off the bed, calling over his shoulder as he walks to the door.

"Thank you, Matty. Thank you for understanding. I'll be back soon, promise."

"Hey, Jeff?"

He stops right before leaving the room, looking back to me curiously.

"Yeah?"

I smirk a little bit and run my tongue suggestively along my lips, wanting to make sure he understands my proposition.

"You can bring Chris back with you, if you want to."


	10. Chapter 10 Jeff

-1Matt's words are still bouncing around in my head as I stride toward Chris' apartment. My heart is hammering away inside my chest, my hands are shaking, and I can feel little beads of moisture making their way down my back. I'm not entirely sure if it's emotional strain, the beginning of heroin withdrawal, or even the vague idea of having both my lovers at the same time.

Surely he was just kidding, right? Matt's never been the kind of person to partake in… well, whatever he was suggesting. Except that he _wasn't _kidding. I could see it in his eyes and that dark smile. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, really. Matt has never been one to care much about consequences, as long as he was getting what he wanted at the time.

I decide that I should just pretend he never said it. Erase that one tantalizing line from my memory and get on with my life. And to mention it to Chris? Hell, no! This entire situation is already complicated enough, so much drama and emotional baggage like matches and flint. Throwing sex into the mix would be like dousing the erupting fire in gasoline.

But, what if…

I shake my head to try and clear away the thoughts, and make my way up to Chris' door. It's unlocked, which is surprising. But also much easier, since I doubt that fitting a key into a lock with my hands shaking as they are would probably not be an easy task.

I step in, and shut the door behind myself. Chris is nowhere to be seen, but there is music floating out from the bedroom. Strummed guitar chords that are cut off, redesigned, and given life again. Following the music, I make my way down the hallway and come to the open door of Chris' bedroom.

He's so wrapped up in what he's doing, he doesn't notice me. That's perfectly fine, because I have to take a minute to digest the scene in front of me.

Chris is sitting Indian style on his bed, wearing nothing but a pair of ratty acid wash blue jeans. His guitar is balanced in his lap and there is an open notebook and pen in front of him. He plucks a few chords, pauses to put his pick in his mouth and scrawl something in his book, and then starts the process over again. His brow is creased in complete concentration on what he's doing. On re-write number three, he still hasn't noticed me standing in the doorway.

This would usually be an incredibly cute scene to happen upon, except for the way he looks. His eyeliner is smeared in black streaks under his eyes, making the dark circles there even more pronounced. His hair is loose against his back, uncombed. It's obvious that he hasn't slept.

There's a makeshift kit on the bedside table. A small mirror, a piece of clear plastic straw, and a razorblade lying next to an already cut rail, just sitting there waiting for his next break from writing. There's a box of Kleenex, a few tissues lying discarded on the floor, stained red from his nosebleeds.

Another few chords, and he huffs in frustration at himself, apparently not satisfied with what he's creating. He tosses the pen aside in disgust, and reaches for his mirror. With his eyes no longer glued to his music, he finally sees me standing there.

We stare at each other for a long time. He sniffs once, dislodging a crust of blood and cocaine that had been caked around his nostril. His hand comes up to wipe it away errantly.

"Hey," he says, voice rough from lack of sleep and the drip of coke down the back of his throat.

"Hey," I reply. I really can't think of anything else to say. Finally, I move into the room and sit down on the edge of the bed.

"Didn't think you'd be back." He pauses for a second, and then gestures in the vague direction of the table. "Sorry."

"Yeah, well, I told you I'd be back. And don't apologize to me. If you're stupid enough to do the same thing you've been tryin' to get me to quit, you're beyond apologies. Just do whatever the hell you wanna do, Chris."

"It isn't the same. I've never touched horse, and you know it."

"A fix is a fix. Whatever addiction you choose, is still a fuckin' addiction. It's still gonna kill you, eventually. How can you say it ain't the same?"

"Because I can control it, Jeff! How many times have you had to pick _me _up from a faceplant in the gutter, huh?" He takes my silence as defeat and follows up with, "yeah. That's what I thought."

I guess he's right, in a way. He's always been slightly more discreet about his recreational activities. I've never had to come and rescue him from a pissed off connection in a dark alley, or take him to the hospital because he mainlined just a little too deep and couldn't stop the bleeding. But, still. That's not the point.

I reach over and pluck the mirror up from the bedside table, staring at the reflection of my eyes amidst the white powder. A genuine portrait of my being enveloped in a mind altering substance. Just the way it always has been.

"Quite a gagger you've got there, sweetheart. You been blowin' this hard all night?"

He sighs and leans back against his headboard, closing bloodshot eyes. "No. Just a couple lines. Gotta get my mind off bad shit and onto something more productive, y'know?"

"Yeah." It's a pointless discussion. I can't undo what he's already done, and I know from personal experience that one drug addict preaching to another just doesn't work. Leaning over to set the mirror back onto the table, I figure I may as well just get back to the subject at hand.

"I talked to Matt."

"Yeah? 'Talked' to him, huh?" He opens his eyes and smiles at me, leaning forward again to brush his fingers across the side of my throat. The sting of his touch surprises me, before I recall the fact that Matt likes to use his teeth. "Well, good for you."

A flush creeps up through my face and ears, and I'm embarrassed before I can even realize why. This is what Chris wanted, isn't it? It's what he's been pushing for ever since he and I first started out. But somehow I can't shake the feeling that I've betrayed him.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Chris."

"I want you to do exactly what you're doing. You're back where you belong, now. What the fuck are you doin' here, anyway?"

"Just because Matt and I are workin' shit out don't mean I'm gonna leave you out in the cold."

"Oh, yeah? So, what does that mean exactly? That every time you guys get in a scrap, one of you is gonna come over here for a good ol' fashioned revenge fuck to get back at the other, and then leave again the next morning?"

"Jesus, Chris, no! Is that all you think of me? You think I never really cared about you this whole time?"

"Look, Jeff. It's all right. All three of us have what we want, now. You wanted Matt, and you've got him. He wanted you; you're his. And all I ever wanted was for you two to be happy. So go and be happy, would ya? But Jesus, go do it somewhere other than here! A clean break, y'know? Maybe after a bit, when things calm down, everything'll be fine again. The three of us can go down to the Pocket and get trashed or something. But for a while.. gimme a little room to heal, all right?"

I sit through his monologue, looking down at my trembling hands and chipped nail polish. I thought this was going to be an easy fix. Just come over here, let Chris know he was still important. Still wanted. I still have to try.

"But, Chris -"

"Please, Jeff." The tone in his voice as he cuts me off makes me look up at him. His eyes are glassy with moisture, and I make myself believe that it's just 'cause he's high. He dashes my hopes quickly enough.

"You're killin' me, here," he whispers. "Just go back to Matt."

"Come with me."

He pauses, blinking in utter confusion, and it almost makes me smile. "What?!"

"I said, come with me."

"What the hell for? You guys don't need me anymore, and you know damned well that Matt isn't gonna want me there, interfering."

"Yes, he does. I'm not really sure if you'd call what he has in mind 'interfering,' but he does want you there. He told me to bring you back with me."

"You're a fuckin' liar!" He kicks at me playfully, chuckling. Reaching up to wipe at his eyes, he starts shaking his head in disbelief. "Jesus. Me and you and Matt. That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"Yeah, ain't it, though? But I'm not lyin', Chris. He really did ask for you."

He's still laughing through his words, and I'm not sure if he really thinks I'm lying, or he's just trying to make a joke out of the entire situation so that he won't really have to deal with it. "You're such a tease. You know I'm blitzed, and you know what coke does to me. You're torturing my poor fragile heart with false propositions of unbelievably intense sexual encounters! You bastard, I oughta -"

I know there's only one way to shut him up. Moving onto my knees on the bed, I entwine my fingers through his hair and bring his lips crashing into my own. He makes a muffled sound of surprise, and I can feel him tense as if he's going to pull away. But in the end, it only takes a moment for him to relent and give himself over to my kiss.

His guitar makes a clanging sound of protest as it hits the carpet, and we're both scrabbling on top of the comforter to get closer to each other. I move my hands down both sides of his throat, and can feel his pulse racing against my fingers, amplified by the drugs and his escalating arousal.

He was right, by the way. I know probably better than anyone what cocaine does to him. And I know that right now, even from such minimal contact, he's just about hard enough to be able to hammer his dick through a two-by-four.

When I pull back, he whimpers pathetically between shallow breaths, lifting his eyes to look at me. His pupils are so huge, I can barely even see the ring of blue that skirts them.

"I want you. Matt wants you. You're coming home with me," I tell him, and he nods instantly.

He doesn't bother to put a shirt on, and I physically have to make him sit down again to put on his boots. The second the laces are tied, he's headed for the door again with me right behind him. I almost run right into his back as he stops in his tracks.

When he turns to cast a lamented glance back into the bedroom, I know exactly what he's looking at and exactly what he's thinking. I know because it's the precisely the same thing I would be thinking. He must know I can read his mind, because he doesn't offer any elaboration to his words.

"It's already cut," he says. I shrug and sweep my arm out in front of me as a gesture of invitation. Be my guest, Christopher. Be the same raving hypocrite you always have been. I'd expect nothing less of you.

He grins like a cat, plants a hard kiss on my lips as he goes by, and hurries back into the bedroom to snort his last line.

The walk back to my apartment is interesting. Chris' prominent hard-on is straining so noticeably against his jeans, I'm surprised he can walk at all. He seems completely oblivious of the looks we get as we hurry along, still trying to keep a decent pace while he touches every inch of my skin he can reach. His excitement has driven most of the nervousness from my mind, but there is still that nagging voice asking just what the hell is going to happen when we get back to my place.

The stairs inside the building are a challenge. Chris has apparently decided that waiting until we actually get into the apartment to strip me would be a huge waste of time. We're both stumbling up the stairs as he's yanking at my shirt, finally succeeding in ripping it down the middle and letting it fall in tatters beneath our feet. I can only laugh, amused but not at all surprised by his enthusiasm. After a short make-out break against the stairwell wall, we're finally on the right floor.

Seeing the door to the apartment seems to knock a little bit of sense into him. He's standing behind me, like he's using me for some sort of human shield. His hands are roving all over my bare chest, but his voice in my ear holds a little uncertainty.

"Matt really said that?"

"Yeah, he did. It's okay, Chris. C'mon." I open the door and lead him inside, hoping that it really was okay.

He's still behind me, and he uses his foot to close the door after us because his hands are too busy trying to unfasten my belt. A second after the door closes, Matt's form emerges from the hallway, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers.

Everything stops. Matt is just standing there, watching us with a somewhat shocked expression. I'm frozen in something akin to terror, just waiting for him to exclaim that he'd just been kidding about the whole thing. Chris' hands seem to be melded against my waistline. He's no longer moving, and I can't feel him breathing against my back anymore.

"I didn't think he'd really come," Matt says, and he smiles.

Chris and I heave a relieved sigh in perfect unison. Still, no one moves for a minute. We're all just standing, breathing, watching, existing in the surrounding oxygen that is thick and awkward.

It's Chris that decides he's had enough. His mind, hazy with drugs, has completely abandoned all notions of insecurity and questioning. His hand squeezes me through the fabric of my jeans while at the same time, his teeth sink into the back of my neck. I yelp, but just as quickly as his touch came, it's gone, and he's striding across the floor to get to my brother.

I watch him advance on Matt like a predator going in for the kill. When someone comes at you like that, like they're either going to punch you in the face or kiss you stupid, it's just human nature to retreat. To back up, at least. Not Matt. He just flashes an arrogant smirk and squares his shoulders, dark eyes gleaming.

His back makes heavy contact with the wall when Chris reaches him and shoves at his shoulders. Their lips meld heatedly, both moaning at the initial contact. Hands are tearing at clothes, and I can do nothing except stand there and watch, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. I've never seen them together before, not like this, and I hadn't been sure what my reaction would be. It's never been easy for me to think of Matt with someone else. But this… this is a wicked preview that makes me ache for the full version.

They're both naked in what seems like a heartbeat, and Matt is leading Chris toward the bedroom. Both pairs of eyes turn to me expectantly. Matt's expression is asking me if I'm still okay with this, and Chris' is asking me if I'd please hurry the fuck up.

I move to follow, unbuckling my belt and unfastening my jeans on the way. I almost trip and break my damned neck trying to kick my shoes off, but I manage to survive and get into the bedroom, as naked as both my lovers.

The bed has suddenly become a confusing labyrinth of limbs. There are fumbling, awkward touches as the three of us try to decide what's going where, when, and how. We get our first position initiated eventually. Matt's leaning back against the headboard and I'm laying on my stomach in between his sprawled legs, sucking him off and trying to contain my nervous excitement enough not to slip up and graze too hard with my teeth. I can hear both their moans muffled in each others mouths as they exchange hot, sloppy kisses. I glance upward to find Matt's hand fisting agonizingly slow over Chris' erection as they make out.

As much as I'm enjoying this, I know I can't keep it up too long or I'll finish Matt off before the real fun begins. After a few more minutes, I pull away and rest my head against his thigh, looking up at them.

Matt breaks their kiss, finds my gaze, and smiles lazily at me. His hand is moving a little faster along Chris' cock, making Chris shudder and squirm. He isn't paying much attention to anything except the feel of Matt's strong grip.

"You ever been high on coke, Matt?"

He glances to Chris for a split second and scoffs knowingly before nodding. "Yeah, 'course I have."

"So, you know what it's like. It's a little different with him, though. He's horny as hell, obviously, but desensitized. He's gagging for it, but it's gonna take quite a bit to get him off. But when we do… Jesus, Matt, he comes so _hard_."

"I think we'll manage," Matt says, releasing Chris and standing from the bed. Chris is left there, panting, flushed, and looking deliriously happy.

Matt goes about digging through the bedside as Chris and I find each other. I'm still nervous, but his touch is familiar enough to get me to relax, and soon enough his hands and mouth have me almost as hard as he is.

I can feel Matt's heated gaze burning holes in our skin as he watches us, and Chris grins at him as pushes me over onto my hands and knees. The feeling of his skin against mine is wonderful, as it always has been, and knowing that Matt is watching us sends a thrill right through me and straight to my groin. Chris crawls behind me, his hand finding my cock and his mouth sucking along my the back of my neck and down my shoulder blades, hard enough to leave marks.

Matt just stands back and watches the scene for a few minutes, and honestly, I'm too far gone in Chris to even notice when Matt hands him the lube. It becomes apparent, though, when Chris' slicked finger finds my opening, sliding in easily. I gasp involuntarily and my eyes fly open, instinctively searching out Matt's face. He kneels on the floor beside the bed so that he can be eye-level with me, leaning in to kiss me sweetly and run his hands through my hair, reassuring me once more that everything is fine.

More than willing to lose myself in the touch of both my lovers, I keep kissing Matt as Chris prepares me, our tongues slicking against one another. After what seems an eternity, Chris' fingers are gone and I break from Matt, knowing I'll have to breathe through what's coming next.

Matt seems content, for the moment, to sit there and watch as Chris positions himself at my entrance, starting the slow slide into me. It doesn't take long for him to be fully sheathed, leaving us both panting and slick with sweat. He takes a shuddering breath and goes still for a moment, adjusting to the sensation and letting me do the same.

By the time that Chris is setting a slow rhythm against me, Matt's slowly jerking himself off from his position on the floor, his eyes hazy with lust as he watches us. I fight my hardest to keep my eyes open so that I can watch him, but the feel of Chris pumping into me is too much and I have to let them slide closed so that I can completely concentrate on the pleasure.

Chris soon decides that slow and steady just really isn't doing it for him. Growling low in his throat, he leans over my body, wrapping one arm tight around my waist and gripping the headboard with the other hand. What follows is a series of fast, pounding thrusts that has me leaning all my weight down onto my elbows so that my hands will be free to grab a pillow to scream into. The last thing I need right now is my neighbors storming over and pounding down my front door because of the noise.

Suddenly, Chris' hips hitch and then stop, leaving him buried deep inside me. His weight against me increases as his chest becomes plastered against my back, and he's practically keening in my ear.

"Oh, fuck, Matt," he moans against my skin, and I can't help but to try and crane my neck around so that I can see what's going on behind me. My entire body is throbbing with heat and I wish to god that Chris would move again, but when I glance behind me, I can see why he isn't.

One of Matt's hands in braced on the back of Chris' neck, keeping him pressed against my body. The other is guiding his cock to Chris' waiting hole. I don't know if Matt has prepared him or not, but judging by the way Chris is shaking and tensing against my back, I'm guessing not.

After a few experimental thrusts, Matt grabs Chris by his hair and pulls him upward again, wrapping an arm across his chest. Chris is long gone. His fingers are scrabbling against my sweaty skin, looking for impossible purchase. His mouth is hanging wide open to emit agonized whimpers of pleasure, his eyes rolling behind the closed lids. Matt sets a hard, fast pace right away. I quickly forget about watching them and let my forehead hit the bed again as every one of Matt's thrusts sends Chris' hips crashing forward into me.

"Ohh. Oh, god, I've never… felt… oh, fuck.."

More mostly inarticulate babble leaves Chris' lips, punctuated by gasps and whimpers. It takes a few minutes, but once he becomes accustomed to the new sensation, he's ready for more. I feel his fingers wind into my hair, and he snaps my head back, setting his own fast pace against me that moves in fluid harmony with Matt. Add my backward grinding against Chris, and the three of us turn into one well-oiled machine, moving in perfect synch and pure lust.

With Chris still gripping my hair, I no longer have a pillow to moan into. But that's all right, because I no longer give a flying fuck about the neighbors. All that exists to me now is the wet smack of skin against skin, the ripe smell of sex in my nostrils, and three desperate, keening voices mingling in the air.

I know that Chris no longer has the wits about him to worry about getting me off, and I haven't touched myself since this whole thing started, but I still feel like I'll explode at any second. I can only imagine what Chris is feeling right now, every feeling heightened by the high he's on.

The second my thoughts turn to Chris, his hand in my hair turns painful and he makes that low sound in his throat. His hips are working frantically against me, and I know that he's going to come any second.

"Yeah. That's it. Come on, Chris. I've got you. Let go. Come for us, baby."

Matt's voice, and just the sound of it is almost enough to push me over the edge, even though he wasn't even talking to me. As if just having been waiting for permission, Chris grinds backward into Matt and then brutally slams into me, filling me so completely that I can feel hot liquid seeping and drizzling down my inner thighs.

But really, it's his screams that bring me over. The sound of his ecstasy as he comes while fucking both of us. My hands ache from gripping the sheets so tightly and I'm coming before I even realize it, surprised for only a split second about the fact that my cock wasn't even being touched. After that one second, I'm completely beyond coherent thought, groaning as I spill over the mattress and shooting so hard that I even manage to hit my own stomach.

Before I even have the chance to come down completely, I feel Chris slowly withdrawing from my body. It seems like an awful lot of effort, but somehow I manage to look over my shoulder at them. Chris' body has gone completely limp and Matt is the only thing holding him up. I watch as Matt very gently pulls Chris away from me and then disentangles himself, letting Chris lie down on the bed beside me.

Lowering Chris to the bed is the last gentle thing Matt has in him. Immediately after Chris is settled, Matt reaches for me, flipping me over onto my back and leaning over me, kissing me hard. He has one hand braced on the mattress beside my head, holding himself up. The other is furiously working his cock as his moans vibrate against my lips.

Reaching up to push my fingers into his hair, I'm still reeling in the aftermath of my orgasm. Matt is so worked up that it doesn't take long for him to bring himself over. I'm still high enough on my endorphin rush that I don't feel any pain when Matt bites down on my lower lip, bringing blood as he groans and coats my chest and stomach.

As soon as his tremors subside, he releases my lip with an audible sucking sound and then collapses on top of me, making us both into one big sticky mess. He's panting hard and I can feel his heartbeat against me, matching the frantic pace of my own.

Idly stroking my hands through Matt's hair, I look over at Chris. His eyes are shut, but I can tell he's awake by his changing facial expressions. He goes back and forth from looking like he's in severe concentration about something, and looking like he's still in the throes of a mind-blowing orgasm. He's breathing and shaking so hard that it scares me for a minute, thinking he's having a heart attack or something. But his eyes flutter open and he gives us a lazy grin, whispering in a husky voice that's barely audible.

"I'm gonna crash."

He's asking if it's okay to sleep here, I realize. I can't answer because I don't know Matt's boundaries, and I don't want to piss him off. But Matt reaches over, runs his hand down Chris' back, and smiles.

"Go ahead. We'll be here when you wake up. With plenty of Excedrin."

Chris chuckles and nods, and then almost immediately drifts to sleep.

Matt rolls off and to the other side of me, putting me between Chris and himself. I nestle myself between the two of them, feeling totally and completely content for the first time in what seems like forever. Matt stretches comfortably, working tight muscles, and then rests his head on my shoulder.

"Ya see? You were all worried about what to do about Chris. This is all he needed."

"It's a quick fix, Matt, but it ain't gonna last. Not unless you both are gonna move in here and share me. What's gonna happen next?"

He nuzzles closer into me, speaking in between feather-light kisses to my neck.

"Quit worryin' so much. I got no idea what's gonna happen next, and it don't make any difference. We're together, and that's all that matters."


End file.
